Extreme Ways
by Bluejay141519
Summary: "This wasn't supposed to happen. We were never supposed to fall this far." Jay!whump/hurt/PTSD. For bubbly88Tays birthday.
1. Dear Mrs Robinson

**Hey guys so here a new one of mine!**

 **A little important side note:**

 **This story is going to discover itself. Meaning that you are going learn what happens through many a flashback.** _ **It's not mean to be an easy story.**_ **You are going to learn about the past events through different characters memories and expiernces as they cope, both in the Doctors office and out.**

 **That said, I hope you enjoy it very much.**

 _ **To the real bloofy.**_

* * *

 **Halsteads P.O.V.**

"Mr. Halstead, while I encourage the use of my services by police to deal with difficulties on the job, I also encourage that while they are here, they actually _talk._ "

"Hmm? Oh yeah, sorry."

"What's on your mind detective?"

"I'm just...trying to figure shit out. I mean I understand you're a therapist and all and it's your job to get people to talk to you it's just that this is the just about the only place where I can...you know. Think."

"Here, in the one place you can talk. Care to explain that one?"

"It's quiet."

"Quiet. As opposed to your apartment in the dead of the afternoon or your precinct at four in the morning?"

"That's not what I meant. Those places, yes they are by definition quiet, but they are not for me. There to much going on, to much competing for my attention for me to be able to really just _think."_

"Okay. So what's there? What's so threatening about the silence?"

"What?"

"It's not that you can't think when you're in quiet like that, it's just that when you do it's not how you want to think, or not what you want to think about. That's why you don't sleep without headphones anymore, right? The silence allows thoughts to creep in that you don't want in your head. Which can be good, in some cases, like your, it helped you get past your insomnia."

"Yes. Well. Sorta. Yes and no."

"That's a little bit of a contradictory sentence Mr. Halstead."

"I'm full of those, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"Back to the point. What do you mean by 'yes' and 'no'?"

"Well, yes, listening to something at night relaxes me and helps me sleep. I find that when I'm more relaxed before I sleep, I'm less likely to have a nightmare or a night terror."

"But you haven't had a night terror in a while."

"No."

"Not since before the incident, correct?"

I pause.

"Detective? It's okay, we don't have to talk about that, I just need to know if you've had one recently."

"I-I honestly don't know."

"Okay. That's fine. Let's move back a little. What' s the 'no' again?"

"Well, actually it's more of a correction than a 'no'. You are right, silence, when I'm alone, is... _dangerous._ I think things, I remember things, then I think things about those memories. Things that I know are wrong, things that I shouldn't be thinking and I want to stop thinking them, because I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up finding that I actually believe them."

"Like what?"

Images of Erin hitting that table flash for a moment. I choose not to answer that one.

"You think it was your fault?"

"She did almost die."

"Jay I'm not talking about when you were captive, although we can revisit that if you feel you-"

"No! No, I...I don't need to go through that again. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm still a little confused on what exactly you are correcting me on."

"You said the silence is what threatens me, and you _are_ right, but it's not really the silence that triggers it. The silence is what allows me to really think about it, however it's the, um it's the, the _memories_ that make it hard to concentrate. I mean normally it's okay, some places will gives me flashes or remind me of something but now it's...it's everywhere. Suddenly _everywhere_ triggers a memory, _everywhere_ is uncomfortable, _everywhere_ is just...wrong."

"Wrong." She repeats.

"Work is easier. I'm normally concentrated on something else, but when it gets quite in the precinct or when I'm alone in the locker room or my car or hell the hallway leading me to my apartment. It's all wrong. I'm think of things, I remember the things that I was thinking four months ago before this all, started. I don't think of anything _but_ what I thought in the past. And I can't get over it."

"So when you're here..." She inquires, nodding her head slowly with understanding. I go quiet for a moment.

"Nothing bad, has happened here. Difficult maybe, you could even say pained with some of the conversations we've had but nothing...bad."

"There's no memories here. No past thoughts, no panic."

"Correct. The silence doesn't threaten me here. I can think but I can think about things _other than_ the past."

"Good. That's a good thing right? For you? Just to be able to take a breath almost?"

"Why do you think I get here two hours early?"

"Well I assumed it was because you aren't working right now. It _is_ a Saturday." She says with a slight chuckle.

"Your point? You've met my boss."

"This is true. Speaking of work, you mentioned how things are difficult there?"

"Not difficult. Different. Which is basically the same thing." She straightens and I can just see that spark of real interest in her eyes. She's always thought of me as an extraordinary study, especially after our first session when after an hour of her talking I only responded with one sentence before getting up and leaving.

She pulls off her glasses, dropping them on her notepad.

"Explain that to me."

"Not much to explain its pretty simple."

"To most people, yes. But you Lieutenant Halstead are _not_ most people."

"Don't call me that."

"It seems to be the only way to really get you to listen to me sometimes."

"I'm listening."

"I think we've gotten to the point where we both know there's a difference between listening to the words I'm saying and listening to the meaning behind them. You choose to ignore the meaning, I will choose to ignore some of your wishes."

"Fine, then. What _exactly_ did you want me to explain."

"It's my understanding that you enjoyed your job."

"For awhile."

"Yes. And on the couple of occasions that I've seen you for mandatory psych Evals following a fatal shooting, you've never described your job as 'difficult'. Most people, ignoring your past, most people in your position do describe their job as at the very least, challenging, both physically and mentally." I let out a huff of breath through my nose. She pauses.

"You disagree?" I cross my arms and learn further into the chair, for the first time in a while anger coursing through me after hearing about what other cops consider 'challenging'.

"There's a differences between something being difficult and something being challenging. After my childhood then my time in Afghanistan being a cop isn't exactly a _hard_ job. I've always known how to deal with things, because compared to my past everything I encounter in my job is small, simpler. I can deal with emotional stress, I know how, but it need to be small. Most cops version of a hard day, is a decent one in my book. I won't go home smiling but I'll feel okay."

"So this job is easy for you."

"It was." She smiles slightly, then picks up her pen.

" _That_ Mr. Halstead is what I want you to explain." I stay silent. That's sorta the theme in this room. There's a lot of silence between responses.

"Jay? You okay?" I nod smiling.

"I'm just...thinking."

* * *

 _"Mark Conlin, fifty two years old, currently in possession of a fully armed gang, motive to start a war, and about fifty million dollars to do it with." Ruzek slaps a picture the white baked, writing the name underneath._

 _"Define 'start a war' for me." Al questions his partner._

 _"Gang war of course. Apparently Mr. Conlin wants the money from the heroine trade in Lincoln park, currently controlled by the Green Dragons."_

 _"Okay, well cool, but what does that have to do with us? Shouldn't a potential gang war be sent to oh, say. 'Guns and gangs'?" I ask, my fuse short this morning from lack of sleep. We just wrapped up a burnout case, meaning it was fricken impossible, but extremely important, so Voight ran us dry. No sleep, food only when you could._

 _Not like I can fall asleep much anyways, but at least I got four hours a night. I cherished those four hours. Now, after finishing my paper work from last night, I had just enough time to go home shower and change before I had to get back to the precinct. Which means I had about zero hours of sleep. Over the last three days._

 _However, even as the sarcastic words leave my lips, I can feel it. The tension my body has squired just Tom hearing about the drug trade. Suddenly I know where this is going before Adam even responds._

 _"Guns and gangs said that they were stretched thin trying to defuse the midtown dispute over on the east side, complete op piste end of the city. They sent the case up to us so we could put in a UC." My heart seems to skip a beat for a moment, then resumes, racing faster than before. The room is silent for a moment, everyone shooting fleeting glances at me. The last time we had an undercover operation it was quite similar to this, and it got me kidnapped, tortured and threw Erin and I in the hospital._

 _Needless to say, I don't think I'll be able to survive this case, even if Voight puts me on the watch and response team. He wouldn't dare to put in as the UC, but I also doubt he'll bench me._

 _I swallow past the lump in my throat, drawing my trembling hands back towards myself and off the desk._

 _"What's the play?" I ask, wincing at how rough my voice sounds. Ruzek stares at me for a moment, before dropping his gaze almost guiltily to the case file in his hand._

 _"Set out the bait, a new producer in town looking for somebody to sling and for some protection. Simple meet and greet, hoping to maybe get both from Conlin's boys in exchange for some decent pay. That should stalk them long enough to at least leave Lincoln as it is. Then once we got enough of them on decent charges, we pull it and take in on a bust."_

 _Al then goes on toast a question, which sparks a conversation between the rest of the team. I don't hear then at all really, their voices mixing together to become just a white noise in the background of my thoughts._

 _It's too close. The case, the players, everything. It brings everything back from two weeks ago and smacks me so hard in the face I cN barely think._

 _"Jay?" I can't respond, my brain has switched into survival mode. I don't even know who's talking, their voice sounds like it's underwater, muffled and distorted. If I didn't know the sound of my own name so well I'd have no idea what they were even saying._

 _Suddenly the need to get out, get away from this oppressive room where it all began becomes necessary. I don't remember standing, I don't even remember walking to the locker rooms, but somehow I'm there and well, I can't teleport._

 _I stand in front of the mirror, my hands white knuckles on the edge of the counter there. As I face myself I realize a certain annoying detail about mirrors._

 _They tell you exactly what you don't want to see._

 _The truth._

 _I can't do this. I can't face myself, not after Nadia and then Erin leaving because of Nadia, then coming back just to save my ass and almost dieing in the process. I cannot._

 _The realization hits me like a brick, sending my breathing into a spiral. My face stares back at me in the reflective surface. Even though it's been almost since my time as a punching bag, the blue bruise surrounding my eye is still slightly visible. Pure and undiluted hatred for that face explodes in my stomach, adrenaline shooting through my body, bunching up in my arms until I can't stand to look at my self anymore._

 _Screaming I let that energy lose, slamming my fist into the mirror, not taking in the pain as shards of glass slice into my hand. I only watch as the whole panel shatters, pieces falling all over the counter and floor. Then I'm staring At my knuckles, watching the blood pour from them and a nice gash on the back of my hand. It's hurts, yes, but that is nothing compared to what I feel inside._

 _It's a pain so harsh it steal what breath I had, leaving it not to return. My feet stumble backwards, some need to get help making me turn towards the door. But I go to fast, my own legs betraying themselves, refusing to function properly so I end up crashing to the floor._

 _More pain assaults my senses, shape pieces of glass having sliced straight into my arms which took the brunt of my fall. My lips let out a sob as I see the blood. It seeps onto the floor, but it's not the floor anymore it's sand And I'm back there, in afganizstan, in the convoy and I-_

 _-I can't breathe! My lungs constrict, my chest heaves trying to draw I air bit I can't do it and now it's getting worse. Pushing back I scramble on my hands in knees, slamming back into a corner made by the wall and it's perpendicular, the side on the sinks offering protection to my right, wall to my left._

 _My hands shake as I lay them on my knees, drawing my legs in closer to my chest. Safe. I'll be safe here. And right before I completely spiral I can think a lone thought_ :

 _Blood turns sand a weird color._

* * *

"-ou with me? Jay?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes ma'm."

"What did I say about calling me that."

"Instinct."

"Bullshit." I smile. She can see right through me and she knows it. At first that scared me. Now it's almost comforting.

"It's payback." I mutter, the real reason making her laugh.

"Are you ready to continue with my question?" Again I stay silent, this time actually thinking about my response.

"I think so."

"Ok." She presses a button on her watch.

"You timing me?"

"I was." That throws me for a moment, until I realize.

"How long was I...'gone'?" She stares at me, pursing her lips and glancing down at her writing packed notebook.

"About ten minutes." I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

"They're getting shorter then?" She shows me the slightest of smiles, nodding.

"After four weeks since your first one, yes they are definitely getting shorter. And after talking with your team mates, they are also getting much farther apart; you have them less."

"Why is that not a good thing?" She states evenly at me, then seems to make a decision, unclicking her pen and closing her notebook, setting it on the table near by.

"Do you sleep alone Mr. Halstead?"

"Yes, you cleared me." I just about ask, I'm so uncertain.

"That I did. "

"You think that was a mistake."

"No, at the time it was the right decision to make. I just want to make sure it's still the best decision. Would it be possible to have someone sleep in your apartment with you for the next week or so?" I smile wryly.

"Don't really have a choice do I?"

"Well you do, but I'm going to personally call Voight to in form him, and I'm sure _he_ won't give you a choice."

"Alright." I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. If it were an hour ago I'd argue, but these talk always make me feel like I've just ran an emotional marathon, so I'm exhausted. She must notice too, or maybe she was planning on letting me out anyway, because she stands, indicating for me to also.

"I think we good for today. I'm going to be seeing your team the rest f the week, but have Allison schedule you before Wednesday okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Um, same rules apply?" She nods handing me a slip of paper.

"No talking about what goes on in the sessions, no excuses for missing an appointment. This is your number one priority. Here is your prescription refill." She talks, motioning to the paper.

"Oh, I don't need a refill." I blurt out, not even the words until they leave my mouth. She stares at me in disbelief.

"Your not taking your meds."

"No, I just-"

"Why aren't you taking those Jay? They're to help you stay asleep. Like 'stay in bed while sleeping' asleep."

"Look, I don't need them, okay? Besides I can't use them forever, you said it yourself they can be very addicting. I have to learn how to sleep without them some time so...I don't need them." She just glares.

"No, you _do_ need them, you just don't _want_ to need them. Part of the reason I cleared you to live alone in the first place was because someone could confirm that you took your meds every night without having to be reminded."

"Fine. You want to know why I don't take them? Is because I woke up on my roof under half a foot of snow so cold I thought I was fricken dead. They don't stop my night terrors, they only make it near impossible for me to wake up from one." She seems generally surprised to hear this, which means Will didn't tell her last time he was here. He was the one who actually found me and helped women get over the hypothermia.

"You-why didn't you tell me this?"

"What's to tell? I don't have to ask you about everything in my life do I?"

"No, but- fine. Whatever. Don't take them. Your just going to have to get used to living with someone again."

"For how long?" I ask incredulously. She holds up her hands.

"Until you can prove to me that I'm not going to get a call from you at four in the morning because you don't know where you are or how you got there!" My mouth opens, then, after finding no words to combat her reasoning, (this did happen) closes again with an annoyed huff.

"I'll call will." I mutter through clenched teeth.

"Good. And gimme that since your not gonna use it." She holds out a hand that slap paper into, a now crumpled slip that held my prescription. I move quickly after that, just about running to the door. Her voice reaches me just as I grab the silver handle.

"Hey Jay?" My knuckles are white on the metal, the sudden impulse to rip it open, run away and to never come back almost knocking me off my feet. That's how these always end, with me wanting to run back to the alcohol induced oblivion I lived in for a short while, if only a day. Always feeling like I've made more progress in moving backward toward the start than to the finish. Of course then she always says something-

"Have an answer to my question when you come back."

-that keeps me moving forward.

* * *

 **BADABOOM! Ok maybe not quite but this story is supposed to be like roller coaster at night- you can't see where your going, but this only makes the dips and loops more fun.**

 **Hope you likey! Review y'all! I wanna know if you want this to keep going or not!**


	2. Freak

**Well, thank god for miracles right? Not that one happened to me or anything, because if it had The Fall would have been updated by now. Unfortunately school and work have decided to wedge their way between me and a keyboard. Worse part is I can't promise a speedier update, because christmas is coming up and the holidays and family and just-ugh. Free time is a myth I tell you.**

 ***sigh***

 **Hope you enjoy this.**

* * *

 **Antonio's P.O.V.**

I rub my hands up and down my thighs, trying to wipe the sweat off them. My black jeans hold no absorption, the action only serving to betray my nervousness.

 _Jesus Christ if this is me how the hell does Jay even walk through the front door?!_

"Detective Dawson?" I jerk my head up, tearing my vision from the carpet and replacing it with the view of our 'group therapist'. She's a nice lady for a physiatrist although she's kinda like platt. Nothing really gets past her. I guess she's worked with a lot of cops and military personnel before, so when the board reviewed our case reports and testimonies, they decided that she'd be a good fit for the group. Then proceeded to make it mandatory for every single intelligence member to see her. At least once a week until deemed no longer necessary by both her and the commander. (Actually she has to say yes and then the commander just signs the dotted line but it made the mutual superiors happy.)

 **"** Antonio? You with me here?" There's a joking undertone to her voice and I get the feeling she knows _exactly_ how nervous I am.

"Yeah, I'm good." She gives a light laugh.

"You know some of the similarities between your team is almost comical." I look at her quizzically.

"What do you mean?" She stares at me for a moment, seeing to try and read my thoughts.

"Well believe it or not you and Jay _do_ have things in common."

"Such as..."

"You both love to daydream for starters. And you both tend to...avoid certain areas. Not intentionally either. In fact most of the time you won't even realize you're doing it until I point it out. But enough about him." She glances down at her notebook.

"Are you ready to begin?"

"I hope so."

"So then you haven't forgotten what I'm going to ask you."

"You told me last week. I remembered."

"Well, you do have a reputation for _not_ remembering."

"Can we just get this over with?" My voice is a little more sarcastic than I really meant it to be, causing her to raise her eyebrows.

"Detective, if you aren't ready to do this, there are plenty of other things we can discuss."

"No! No I'm..." I push a breath out through my mouth.

"I need to do this. Today." She nods.

"Very well. But before we start, you should know this will not be a one session thing. We _are_ going to come back to this subject more than once." I nod my head.

"Yeah I got it." She clicks her pen. Then it begins.

 **"** Mr. Dawson. It was my understanding that you were the first intelligence member to breach that room, is this correct?"

"Yes."

"And would you mind telling me exactly what you saw?"

"Shouldn't be hard, I'm never gonna forget it."

"Well, then. " She flattens her hand and moves it as though gesturing to something on the wall.

"Explain it for me." I swallow.

"You gotta understand, we were...or _I was_ so focused on the first thing I saw, I didn't really know about the...other part."

"Those 'things' are people and they have names. If you can't even give them that much maybe you aren't ready."

"Look, that ' _thing',_ that _person_ , wasn't Jay okay it wasn't. He was so lost..."

"He was the first person you saw?"

"Yes."

"Alright. What was next? What did you see?"

"The two guys holding him. They both had masks, each was holding one of his arms with white knuckles because he was trying so hard to break free. He actually had bruises on his arms from them."

"What was Jay doing?" I pause, again trying and failing to swallow past the huge lump in my throat.

"Screaming. He was screaming." I whisper.

"Why."

"Because of what was on the other side of the room. Because of what was... _happening_ there."

"Which was what?" Her question sparks anger in me and even though I understand it's solely based off of the fact that I really don't want to talk about it, I still take that anger out on her, lacing my words with venom.

"Oh please! You know what happened, why the hell do I have to repeat it for you?!"

"You had no problem talking about Jay."

"That's because Jay is still here!" She sees my growing agitation and seems to make the decision not to push that part of the conversation.

"Okay, okay. Then let's talk about Jay, since you were there first anyway. What did you do after you saw him?"

"I recognized that he wasn't in immediate danger and immediately went to look for my other team member."

"Erin."

"Correct." She nods in approval, scribbling something down in her notes.

"And you saw what was happening there."

"No. It had already happened, I just saw the aftermath."

"Is that why you choose to help Jay?"

"Look, I didn't _choose_ to help one or the other, I just breached the room and assessed the threats. When I saw Jay screaming like that then... I don't know. I just didn't think it could happen."

"That what could happen?" She asks softly. I don't respond. When she sees I'm not planning to, she quickly redirects the conversation.

"You were there because Jay had been kidnapped correct?" She shuffles some papers in her lap, pulling out a file from underneath her notebook, then putting on her glasses to read from it.

"An undercover operation in which Jay Halstead was to try and buy from the largest heroin dealer in Chicago. The deal went south, Benji keys was killed and Detective Halstead was kidnapped. Through the events of the last twenty our hours to retrieve our team member, intelligence sent in another officer, one who didn't officially have her badge at the time. We used her phone to successfully track her to Halsteads location." She drops the file and looks at me.

"Your words. Exactly." I clench my teeth, but refuse to respond. She herself seems to get a little annoyed at my lack of response.

"You know what else you and Mr. Halstead have in common? You _love_ to stay silent." She says flatly.

I don't smile. Neither does she. We just stay silent for a moment, staring at each other until finally she talks, her voice much gentler.

"Let's try this instead. Tell me about him."

"About who?"

"Halstead. Your friend, the one you brought into intelligence, the one you helped when he was suspected for murder. The one who was almost killed four times in the last two months. The one who you came to me and said was thinking about killing himself. Ring any bells?"

"I didn't say that." I mutter.

"Excuse me?"

"I never said I thought he was going to kill himself, I just said I was worried he was gonna get hurt."

"By his own doing." I shift in the cushy seat.

"...yes."

"Yes. That's how I knew you were different than he described."

"How so?"

"Well for starters you actually care about him. You see him as family. You _notice_ things about him, things he thinks he can get past you."

"Like?"

"Like when you told me how you thought he wasn't sleeping, how he doesn't talk during briefings anymore. He avoids eye contact with everyone, he'll barely even speak to the team, let alone be in the same room as _you_. He doesn't eat.. And those were all within the first week of me seeing you. "

"So?"

" _So_...you were right. About _everything._ Everything you told me about him was true." I stare incredulously at her.

"Wha- when did I-" I stammer out, in total shock that I was right and that she was actually listening to me when I said that.

"It doesn't matter _when_ you told me, I remembered. I may have taken it with a grain of salt, but after hearing from everyone else on your team, I was starting to believe you were right. Once I saw him, it only solidified my belief in your words."

"Wow."

"Mhm. Take that into consideration when you bring me back that room. You know what you did, you know what happened. So tell me about the men, the ones holding Jay. What happened to them?"

"Dead."

"Killed by who?"

"Ruzek. Atwater. I don't really know how all that happened, I just turned around to stop Jay and they were on the ground."

"...stop Jay? Why? Stop him from what?" This throws me for a loop. I actually have to try and remember exactly why I had to body slam him to the ground.

"Uh, it was Erin. He wanted to go to Erin and I knew it-he would just get in the way. Plus, he was...well he wasn't really in the best shape to do anything except hurt himself more." Her brows furrow for a moment, confusion evident on her face. Clearly this conflicts with some other accounting she has, although she seems intrigued at my words.

"Okay I'm a little confused. Could you do something for me?" She asks.

"Sure."

"Remove the filters and Just tell me everything."

"Excuse me?"

"Everything. Exactly what you saw, what you thought, what you felt. Don't think about what you're saying just talk. Don't hold back. "

"How am I supposed to tell all that if I'm not thinking?"

"Because you tend to think about what's appropriate to say to me, like you're in a deposition. You're not. You're in a therapy session. I need to know what was really going on in that room, and you choosing to keep things out to protect you and your job is not of any interest to me or yourself. You are here to get help. That starts with you helping yourself by not leaving anything out." She takes a breath before continuing. I glare at the clock on the wall, angry at it for not showing a later time.

 _I still have another forty minutes of this._

"Start from the moment you saw Lindsay. What happened next?" Her question forces me to forget the clock and time. Instead it jerks me to another time, another place. A memory. One I really don't want to be in.

 _Jay is still screaming, a heart broken echoing wail that chills me to the core. It sounds as if he is breaking, like everything that is him is shattering into a million pieces, never to be reassembled the same way._

 _I can't move. I just stare, horrified at the scene in front of me, at the realization that we failed. We lost. It's over._

"Was that when Detective Ruzek and Atwater shot the men holding him?"

"Yeah. At least I think so. I guess one of them let go of Jay to shoot at us, the other tried to kill Jay."

"Tried to."

"A bullet through the brain normally tends to screw up most brain functions, including the ability to squeeze the trigger of a gun."

"Normally?"

"Are you just going to repeat random part of my sentences or...?" She smirks.

"No, it's just you said 'normally' as in usually this happens but this time..."

"This time when he was killed his muscles spasmed or something, so he did end up shooting Jay in the side."

"But you didn't know this at the time."

"No."

"When you found out, how did you feel?" She tilts her head to the side gauging my reaction. I don't care.

"Terrified." I whisper.

 _Adam's shout makes me turn, just in time to drop my gun and catch Halstead As he tries to rush past me. It doesn't take much to hold him down, the fact that he barely struggles against me tells me exactly how weak he is. I'm on my knees on the hardwood floor, my body acting as a good visual blockade from the chaos behind me._

 _Ruzek quickly joins me, grabbing Jays right side and helping me to flatten him on the ground, uttering comforting words trying calm the distraught man. I ignore the barely audible 'no' emitted from my friend as we force him to lay down. He's sobbing almost, but the longer I listen to him gasp for air, the more I realize it's worse than that. He's hyperventilating, choking almost on air, like he can't draw it into his lungs, nor can he keep it there._

 _"Jay. Jay listen you gotta relax, okay. Just breath you're going to be okay." I whisper to him while gently pressing on his ribs, trying to determine if any broken ones are causing his current predicament. I do find a couple abnormal bumps, but I can't tell if they are broken ribs, or just swelling from being tortured constantly._

 _Suddenly I'm aware of a hand offering a feeble grip on my arm. My gaze moves back to Jay's head, where his two blue eyes lock on mine. I can see everything in them. The fear and confusion of current events, the anguish that has bruised his soul from the last day and a half of hell. I can see the pure terror clouding his judgement because of what he witnessed. Because of what he thinks he failed to do._

"Which was what?" I shoot her a glare.

"You said to tell the story from my point of view. This was what I saw. Now are you going to keep interrupting or can finish this?" Her eyes narrow at my tone, but she does nod for me to go on.

 _I can hear Olinski over the radio, calling for another Ambulance. The dispatcher responds that the nearest one is five minutes out. I know we have one already here, one we brought with us for Jay. All I can think is how she needs it, she needs to go, when Halstead starts coughing. It's subtle at first a slight hitch in his breath, clearing his throat too many times to be normal._

 _Not that the way he is functioning right now is normal. But when the erratic breathing and small moans of pain stop and are replaced by a deep, wet cough that rattles in his chest, it is definitely a change of pace. Ruzek yells at me to help him. I gently grab Halsteads neck and head while Adam grabs his shoulder and side. Together we log roll him on his side, where he heaves, coughing out a_ _ **lot**_ _of blood, that turns the carpet from green to a nasty brown color._

 _Slowly he quiets, his body jerking slightly as a few more streams of blood escape from Jay's mouth. Someone-I think it was Atwater-shoves a jacket underneath his head so when we return him to his original position on his back, Jay's head is pillowed. Halstead's eyes flutter as his head lolls side to side, mouth moving in indiscernible words. Or maybe he's just trying to breath, I can't tell at this point._

" _We have to do something." I mutter to Adam as we watch our friends lips slowly turn blue. Somebody jumps on their radio, dispatch responding with another two minutes on the next ambulance. I'm aware of the absence of bodies behind me, Voight and Al must have taken her in the awaiting ambulance._

" _Like what? I don't even know where to start, Antonio. He's got massive bruising just about everywhere, his abdomen is hard and rigid and I can't tell where he's-oh shit." I jerk my head up at the end of Ruzek's sentence, moving my eyes from Jay's paling face to the source of his out burst. A bloody hole is currently being covered by Adam's hands as he desperately tries to stem the flow of life fluid._

 _I shed my jacket, balling it up before shoving Ruzek out of the way and pressing the cloth against the wound. There's a commotion outside, some shouting that pushes Atwater and Adam to raise their guns again. I don't move an inch until a familiar, but surprising voice enters our atmosphere._

" _How is he?" I jerk my head up to see Al, bright red blood still wet on his hands._

" _Why-you're not with Erin?" He doesn't answer, instead dropping to his knees next to me and checking Halstead's pulse._

" _The ambulance was right behind me, they just had to get a couple of officers to escort them in here." Sure enough, the second he's finished speaking a pair of EMT's burst into the room carrying a backboard and jump bag. Al takes my shoulders and gently pulls back away from Halstead's body, one of the medics instantly ripping away the jacket to replace it with gauze, then taking over on pressure. I'm vaguely aware of Adam telling them everything he knows, the EMT's exchanging some ominous words before throwing an oxygen mask over Jay's pale face._

 _Someone's talking to me, telling me to do something, but their words are garbled and only half heard by my brain. The same person touches me, and it's like their hand is charged with electricity, the power jerking me back to the present. Stepping forward I grab the end of the backboard Halstead now rests on. Al and a medic each take a respective side, the other EMT taking the front by Jay's head, Ruzek going ahead to clear a path._

 _They shove him into the ambulance and Al holds me Adam back, letting me get in instead. We are moving before I even sit down, which is fine with me. As we move, the male paramedic in back with shoves a pad of gauze over the still bleeding gunshot wound. He grabs me hands, bringing the to the padding._

" _Press here. Hard. As hard as you can." I nod then do as I'm told, all while watching the actions of this first responder who is probably the only thing standing between life and death for Jay right now. It seems magnetic, what this guy is doing because I can't tear my eyes away, even as my hands slowly become covered in blood soaking through the gauze. I watch as he shines a penlight over Halstead's unevenly blown pupils, muttering something about multiple severe head wounds, indicating repeated trauma._

 _He barely pauses to accept my sentence as I tell him Jay was tortured. Whipping out his stethoscope he presses it to his patients chest. Slowly he moves his opposite hand across Jay's chest, gently pressing down all while watching the heart monitor. At one particularly nasty patch of blue and purple, he presses down and the machine starts beeping wildly. Halstead's body shifts underneath me, although I suspect it's more a natural instinct than him being conscious._

 _The paramedic flinches at the sound, instantly removing his hands. He starts to reach above me when he recognizes that the monitor never stopping blaring its alarms. We both watch as the little blip speeds up rapidly before deciding to minimize to a small wavy line. The guy yells something to the driver before snatching the oxygen mask of Jay's greying skin. He replaces it with a tube down the man's throat, which he then clicks a blue plastic balloon like contraption to._

 _Finally glancing up, he must remember I'm still here, and gestures for me to come nearer._

" _Hey, forget that." He says, grabbing my arm and just about pulling me across the little bench. He places my hand on the bag, staring at me seriously he instructs me to squeeze every five seconds. As I follow his directions, my shocked stare stays stuck on his ministrations. He prepares a needle, injecting the contents into Jay's I.V. It has the opposite as the desired effect, giving me the wonderful opportunity to watch my best friends heart stop, right before my eyes._

"Jay was _dead?!"_ The exclamatory sentence jerks me out of the memory, slamming me back into my seat in the plush office, making my head spin with confusion.

"Antonio!"

"Yes! Yes, he was dead! You happy now?! I said it! He was dead and he died in front of me and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it!" She blinks in shock, slowly shaking her head. I'm thinking she's about to chastise me for my outburst, but she takes a different approach with her words, one that throws me for a loop.

"Tony...I didn't know he died. Ever. At any point."

"But...that...I thought that would have been in the report!" She shakes her head.

"A complete detail of the ambulance ride may have made it into a testimony had the circumstances been right, but they definitely wouldn't have been in the police report. And I don't have full access to the medical files."

"Then what-wasn't that what you…" I trail off puzzles beyond belief. It takes her a second, but she does catch on to my train of thought.

"You thought that's what I wanted you to admit today, right?" I can do nothing but nod, my mouth seemingly glued shut after the recent events. She nods, pursing her lips then closing her notebook.

"I tell you what. Why don't you go home. I'll schedule you again for next week. And while you are sitting on your couch trying to forget everything that just happened while watching a hockey game you can think about what my _real_ goal was. And maybe you can tell me if I reached it or not. That sound good detective?" She rises without waiting for answer, starting to walk to the door. I robotically rise with her, following her out and traveling all the way to my car before it hits me. The reason why I'm so out of it, so shocked.

That memory, at least when I was describing it anyway, felt _real_. Like I was there, actually there all over again. I re-experienced it in that therapy room. I was so completely immersed in the past that I didn't remember what spot in reality I was currently holding. I _forgot_ I was in that room. I lost myself in that memory.

She wanted to see if had flashbacks, if I could get lost in them. She needed to judge the degree of my PTSD, and I certainly gave her a good show for her to judge.

She wanted to see if I was like Jay.

And as I cover my mouth to stop the sob from escaping it, I try to discern which is worse: the fact she is right, that I am, of the fact that the thought of being like him scares the shit out of me. Shame courses through my body. He's my friend, and the single idea of being remotely like him makes me _ashamed?!_

Loss and guilt slams into me, knocking the breath from my lungs. I used to want to be like him, I used to want to _help him_ and now…

My eyes land on a lone picture of the team. It was a while ago, before Nadia's death, but while she was with the team. We're all at Molly's, and although I'm pretty sure we were all drunk, we are all smiling. And they're there, right there, right smack dab in the middle of the huddle. Jay has his regular shit eating grin, which is what I'm guessing to be the reason Erin is laughing as she leans against him.

It's his eyes that get me though. They're so clear. So free. Nothing like they look now, haunted and full of weariness. They were so normal. So _Jay._ And now, I think-I think that's gone. For good. The realization settles over me like a blanket of depression, as I slip down on my side to lay fully on the couch.

I spend the night staring at my ceiling, mourning not one, but two friends.

* * *

 **I wonder if anyone's caught on yet. Hope that didn't totally give it away.**

 **I dare you to review. ;D**

 **(Jk. I'm begging you.)**


	3. Till My Heart Stops

**Well, this took...a really long time. Partially because I have no idea where this story is going anymore and partially because typing is physically hard for me right now.**

 **Thank you fractured collarbone and shattered wrist. I appreciate it. -_-**

 **That said, please excuse my spelling/grammer mistakes. I'm too exhausted to find them. The words are literally blurring. Sleep is for the weak.**

 **Also, the the beginning part of this is the continuation of last chapters ambulance ride. Read away.**

* * *

 **Antonio's P.O.V.**

" _He's coding! Pushing one of epi...back into Vfib. Damn it, Alex, I need an ETA, this guy isn't gonna make it much longer without a bypass and he needs blood."_

" _Three minutes." The driver, must be 'Alex', responds as we round a corner._

 _More alarms beep. My hand stays on the bag._

" _I have VTach. Pushing Sotalol and_ _procainamide."_

 _Relax. Count to five. Squeeze. Relax. Count to five. Squeeze._

" _We're here!" The ambulance doors burst open and doctors, interns, nurses all reach for the gurney._

 _Relax. Count to five._

 _I follow the gurney, making sure to keep pace with everyone. It's hard to keep my feet under me for some reason, but I manage. I have to. Jay dies if I don't._

 _Squeeze. Relax._

 _They realize as we move him from the gurney to a real hospital bed that I am there. Someone asks me to move._

 _Count to five._

 _More hands. More words. All directed at me. Telling me to let go._

 _Squeeze._

 _They pull now. The hands. They pull and voices yell. My hand is taken from the bag. Something hard inside me snaps. Shatters really. Deep inside me, in my heart, somewhere in a place I didn't know existed._

 _I start to yell and fight. I need to see him. I have to help him. I was helping him. I was keeping him alive. Now these people, these people are stopping me from doing this. They are killing him._

 _But the sad truth is that he is already dead. I watch the monitor attached to him flatline again. I am lost, I am drowning in fear. This must be, because I cannot breath anymore. People tell me to calm down. How? My best friend is dead, is dying, is dead again because you people won't let me help him._

 _The curtain is closed further by some nurse, eliminating my view. How ironic. The curtain has closed, I think. Closed on all of us. Intelligence. Intelligence is gone. We are done. The show has ended._

 _A deep, heart broken wail exits me, and I vaguely register that I've never heard so much pain from a human being before. Definitely not from myself. A small prick tenses the back of my neck. I'm bodily lifted onto something more soft and comfortable than the floor I was previously crouched on. I breathe out and my eyes slip closed._

 _Relax._

* * *

 **Will Halstead's P.O.V. (Same time and all)**

" _...it is still unclear the exact details of the bust that occurred earlier today, although it had been confirmed that multiple police officers were injured while attempting to arrest a chicago heroin kingpin, Derek Keyes. The detectives are now on their way to Chicago Med…"_ I stare at the television screen, watching the news report as the call I'm making finally connects...just not with a live person.

" _You've reached Detective Jay Halstead-"_

"Fuck."

"Woah, easy Halstead, that's naughty language."

"Dr. Manning, I'm on my break in a break room. I don't really care." She stands next me, catching onto my worry.

"Your brother?" I glance at the pregnant doctor. _She doesn't know about him, and you can't tell her. Not yet. Besides, it makes sense that he wouldn't bring his phone on an undercover._ I hold up my phone, trying not to look like I'm lying.

"Not answering."

"Will, I'm sure he's fine-"

" _We got incoming!"_ Maggie's voice sounds through the closed door, followed by more instruction and reports on injuries. Natalie looks at me questioningly.

Normally, I'd stay here. Let Conner and Ethan take care of it.

Of course, _normally,_ my brother didn't go undercover without backup, wasn't taken by a drug lord, and his ex-partner who was on a drug spree didn't have to go and save him.

Needless to say, I haven't eaten, slept or stop moving since Antonio broke just about every rule in the book to tell me. Which meant never leaving when my shift was over. So, of course, when everyone came back for their shift and I was still here lookin like (to quote Ms. April sexton)'death warmed over', they grew naturally concerned. Not that I helped by not talking to them. I just couldn't do it. Everyone tried to ask me, in some form or another, what was wrong.

Everyone was also told to shut up, walked away from and/or sworn at. Including my boss. And the physiatrist. Probably not the best idea.

I walk out of the break room.

"Somebody get me Dr. Rhodes!"

"April, get Will down here now!" There's a hand on my arm right as Sexton rounds the corner. I walk, slowly, carefully forward, shrugging off Nat's arm. Dr. Choi rushes past us, followed by Rhodes and that blond attending girl. Choi and the attending rush into trauma 3 to start working on a dirty blond haired women covered in blood.

Someone is screaming, a loud echoing wail that penetrates every room in the lower floor. I look to my left in time to see Antonio lifted, half conscious onto a bed in another room. He was looking at something. At someone.

 _No._

A body lies supine on trauma one's hospital bed, blood soaking his shirt, making it even darker in color. The man's face is pallid, more blood seeping from a large gash that leads into his hairline. His eyes roll beneath his closed lids, seeing torments only his mind knows.

It's him. Of course it is. How could I be so foolish as to think it wouldn't be? My little brother has been getting into trouble since he learned how to walk. But more than he got into trouble, trouble always found him. I guess that's where the whole 'big brother complex' thing came to develop. Which of course Jay always hated.

But as I look at him struggling to breath and stay conscious at the same time, I do have to say, it most definitely amplifies the feeling of pure panic I'd been trying to suppress since he was taken.

With that panic comes a certain amount of fear driven action. So that while my ears seem completely set on only registering my harsh breathing, I move forward and grab some gloves from a container on the wall. Struggling to put them on I ignore all the looks thrown at me as me hearing rushes back, and slip in the trauma room.

"What do we got?" The yell comes automatically as I rush to his side. The blood. There's too much blood.

"Male, multiple trauma to chest, abdomen and head, possible ruptured spleen. BP is fifty over thirty, respirations are short and shallow, averaging about six per minute." I peel away a blood covered leather jacket, trying to ignore the word 'averaging'.

"GSW to the lower right abdomen, bleeding heavily could have hit the hepatic or iliac artery-he needs blood. 30 megs of A positive, let's go!" A nurse scuttles away with a small 'yes doctor' as I push my fingers into the heavily bleeding hole in my brothers body. I locate one of the arteries, ripped and gushing blood. I pinch, trying to ignore the fact that my fingers are actually _inside_ my brother.

"Will. I got it." I look up, staring dumbstruck at Rhodes as he puts on gloves.

"Will, let go." He repeats.

' _No. No way. I'm not letting this rich kid take my brother he-"_

"Halstead, he is still bleeding internally not to mention his head injuries, we need to get him down to surgery. Hospital policy, we cannot operate on our own family members, _you know this._ "

I don't move. He leans closer.

"Listen, I am the _only_ person you got to bring him into down there, but I cannot take you with me so if you want your brother to live through this you _need_ to step. back."

" _Trust me_."

I stare at him only a second longer before slowly stepping back and raising my hands out, allowing April to replace pressure. They move instantly, the crowd pushing their way down the hall towards the elevator.

"Doctor Halstead? Are you okay?" Dr. Charles and Manning's faces fill my vision. I look down at myself, my scrubs and gloves covered in my brothers blood. My brother that fought a war, came home filled with demons just in time to watch his mother die. My brother that I am supposed to protect...my brother that I abandoned when he needed me most.

"He's dying." I whisper, still staring at the hallway Jay disappeared down. Suddenly it's hard to breath.

"He's dying?" I gasp, staring at Natalie, begging for her explain what just happened. Dr. Charles simply nods, face totally calm.

"Okay. Dr. Manning could you go check on the other detectives that came in? Will and I are just going to take a little walk, okay? Is that, okay Will?" I nod numbly, and Charles guides me back across the room to an exam room in the corner. I manage to stumble into the bed, shedding my gloves into trash can before slumping to the floor, leaning up against the wall.

I recognize the panic attack before it really starts, automatically leaning forward till my head is between my knees. I used to get them a lot after my mom died, so I know how to deal with them most of the time. Still, it's Dr. Charles that talks to me as I sit there gasping like an asthmatic who was been breathing on carbon dioxide.

His words are surprisingly soft, but not over sympathetic. Only calm instruction, simple orders that slowly brings me back to what is my ever horrifying present.

"Is he okay?"

I nod to Manning's question, too drained to do anything else. They help me stand. Embarrassment makes my face flush slightly as I realize that Nat must have saw that whole thing. My gaze finds the floor. A cup is shoved in my face.

"Drink." I tip my head back quick, chugging the sweet liquid. I recognize the solution as one we give victims in shock. A lot of glucose, electrolytes and some caffeine. Tastes weird. But it certainly helps calm your body.

"-ou with me? Will?"

"Yeah." I rasp. My chest feels tight again.

"Just breath Will. Jay's gonna be fine, you know that. Rhodes is going to help him."

"That...doesn't make it...easier...to relax…" I gasp.

"The rest of Intelligence are in the waiting room. Erin was the one who came in with Jay… she's in surgery."

"How is she?" I ask, slightly out of concern but mostly because it's a distraction from him. She shakes her head.

"Choi just said it wasn't good."

"What about the other one. Dawson? What happened to him?" Nat takes a deep breath before answering in a more upbeat voice, clearly glad to have at least one piece of good news.

"He had a minor gunshot wound in his side, we don't think he actually knew about it. Blood loss mixed with shock and some pretty...um, heavy emotional trauma. He's going to be fine though, sleeping of a sedative right now in-"

"Where are they?" I growl, cutting off my friends flow of information.

"Waiting room off recovery wing...where are you going?" Her question sounds from behind me as I push open the door.

"Will!" My feet pick up pace, speed walking toward the place holding intelligence.

"Doctor Halstead!" The sharp yell from the normally quiet physiatrist stop me momentarily.

"What are you going to do Will?" Daniel Charles stands firmly in front of me using physical presence as a way of stopping me, probably the first time in a while. Natalie stands slightly behind, acting as his backup.

"Those people are _his team_. They are supposed to protect him! They are supposed to be the best cops in the city and they can't protect their own!" I hiss, desperately trying to get them to let me through.

"They protect each other, not just your brother. I know that hard to accept but it wasn't just Jay that got hurt. Okay, believe it or not, the odds of both of them coming out of surgery alive is very very slim. They have enough grief to deal with right now. So do you."

"But-"

"Will, Jay knew exactly what he was doing when he became a cop. He knows every he takes on when he puts on that badge. Are saying your brother can't defend himself? He has to rely on them to do it for him?"

"No…"

"Exactly. Jay knew what he was doing. This isn't anyone's fault but the criminals who actually inflicted those wounds. Which, if my powers of perception are correct, that _isn't_ intelligence. That _isn't_ Jay. And it most _certainly_ isn't you."

"I know." My comes out weak. A annoying pressure is building behind me eyes, one that slowly start to turn painful.

"Will? You okay?" I try to answer Manning's question, but the pain has become this stabbing agony that seems to split my head in to. With a cry I grab my head, twisting slightly trying to escape it. I've never felt pain this bad, and even as that simple thought slices through my head it actually gets _worse._

"Will!" Someone screams my name as I fall to my knees, tears running down my face.

" _Will! Wake up!"_

What?

"WILL!" A hand slaps my face. _Hard._

"Will?!" Slowly the white flooring tile fades into a dark mattress. The tears are still streaming down my face as I sob. It's dark in the bedroom, indicating that its still the middle of the night. A pair of hands cup my face and suddenly I'm staring at a set of glowing blue eyes.

"Jay." I croak, still trying to calm my spasming diaphragm.

"Yeah." He whispers back. I grab one of his arms and he helps me sit up. Grinding a palm into my eye, I glance at him.

"How long?"

"It's one in the morning. Don't know when you got home but I've been trying to wake you up for about ten minutes now." I groan at the time. My shift ended something like four hours ago.

Wait a sec.

"Ten minutes?!" I yelp. Jay nods, innocence displayed on his face. Well, with Jay just because his eyes are open doesn't mean he's awake. Ten minutes for him would be good.

Ten minutes for me is the longest it's ever taken for someone to wake me from a nightmare.

"You just pulled your first twenty four hour shift since it happened Will. You are exhausted. It's normal to take longer to-"

"Not _that_ much longer!" I hiss, scrambling out of my bed and throwing on a sweatshirt. It's then I finally look at my brother, who is fully clothed and covered in a light sheen of sweat. With a slight gesture to his outfit, I shoot him a questioning look.

"Went for a run."

"At twelve in the morning?"

"Ten at night, actually."

"You went running for _three hours?"_ He bits his lip.

"Yes."

"Was it really that bad?" I ask, walking into his kitchen and turning the lights on. He follows, catching the water bottle I throw at him. It's a little while before he answers. When he finally does it's with a sort sheepishness, showed as he grabs the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes.

"I, uh...kinda left for a little bit."

"So?" When his PTSD was at its peak, he used to get lost for as long as two or three hours. Slowly he started to find his triggers and, not only try to avoid them, but also started to be able to discern the difference between a memory and reality. Which pretty phenomenal for what he's been through. Over the past few weeks those flashback he gets have been getting shorter and shorter to the point where they've really been none existent. Except of course, when he's sleeping.

"So...it was a long one this time." His response throws me.

"You were...okay hold on. What do you mean by 'long'?"

"Ten minutes."

"You're joking right?" I say, trying to smile at him.

"The last one was-"

"The last one wasn't even a full on flashback, it was you showing your superman powers and pulling yourself out of it before you could really lose it. Ten minutes? Pretty sure that's the shortest one you've ever had." He glances at me, still hiding something, still unsure.

"Yeah." We both stare at the floor for a couple minutes, the only sound being the single car or two out in the early morning.

"What was it about?" I ask, keeping my voice quiet.

"Work."

"Work? As in the..."

"Yeah." I wince. Shuffling my feet, I try to figure out how to phrase my next question.

"The one where I broke the mirror." Again I flinch slightly. His first panic attack at work, nobody actually found him. Well at least not during it. Alvin made a joke about him sleeping in the locker room, but other than that, pretty sure no one knows about it except me.

"Oh."

"Yup." More silence.

"Do- do you know, um, do you know who found me?" My eyes lift hesitantly to his face. He shrugs at my confused expression.

"It's kinda a hole in that memory and I've been trying to piece the last two months together so…"

"You don't remember any of it?" My voice betrays my nervousness, which Jay narrows his eyes at.

"No. Other wise I wouldn't be asking you."

"Yeah. Gotcha." He throws the water bottle in the recycle bin by the door, then turns, staring at me expectantly. When I don't answer I get an expectant 'Well….?'

"I did."

A blink. Then another.

"What?"

"I did. Well. I was about three seconds in front of Antonio but...yeah me."

"How?! I was in the-"

"-Locker rooms, yes. You had been acting weird all day, so Al had called me, asked if I could pick you up. Then they started debriefing that case that was an almost exact match to the one where you go kidnapped by keyes and...well...you know."

"Yeah, I _know_ alright." The venom in Jay's voice is to be expected. After a while, he developed this hatred of pity directed towards him. Especially with the way the people on his team would look at him after Keyes. I guess he got tired of everyone pitying him and at one point made it very clear to his team.

Intelligence backed off him after that. I think.

"So anyways...I got there and Antonio was kinda frantic because you just got up and left and no one could find you. So I was trying to calm him down then we heard a yell and glass shattering in the locker room...ran in and found you curled in a ball on the floor."

"Did you call…"

"911? No. I just told Dawson to get the car- _any_ car and pull it around to the back loading bay thingy you guys have."

"The roll up."

"Whatever. So then Al happened to find us and that's when things got a little hectic. I went to move you out of the little corner at the same time someone turned more lights on and everyone was talking kinda loud and well...I shoulda made them give you space. I should have checked you out before moving you. That was my fault." I look up to see Jay trying to find my eyes.

"What was your fault?" He asks in clear confusion. "That attack had like nothing to do with you."

"Not the attack...just that when we moved you, you had a seizure that basically knocked you unconscious. Which was good because you wouldn't be reflexively killing anybody, but bad because then I couldn't help you out of...wherever you were." I watch him carefully, his only visible reaction is a furrowed brow followed by a "Huh." Which is then followed by him walking towards his bedroom.

"Wha-'huh' what?" I call. He returns shirtless with a bundle of clothes in one hand. A quick glance is shot at me as he chucks the clothes into the bathroom.

"Oh nothing. I just think it's ironic how you always yell at me for the random things I blame myself for and yet you do the same thing."

"I do not!" I laugh, staring incredulously at this kid. He smirks, flicking on the lights and shower fan.

"Face it Will, you still think me getting shot was your fault because you didn't see my PTSD." The statement catches me by surprise, so I end up just standing there mouth gaping for a response. Jay just smiles and closes the door to take a shower. Finally I glance at the clock.

' _Almost two. Great. I have to work in ten hours.'_

After slamming on the bathroom door to tell the knuckle head that I'm going to bed, I crawl back into my makeshift room that's really the spare bedroom. However despite my dragging exhaustion, I can't fall back to sleep. I can here Jay leave the shower about ten minutes later, can hear him stub his toe on the couch, and most definitely hear the string of curses that leave his mouth after he does.

I am still staring at the ceiling about an hour later when I am sure he's finally asleep, if the soft snores are any indication. A soft smile plays across my lips as I remember how I used to do this when we were little. Everytime he got hurt, even if there was no possible way it was my fault, I'd feel bad. And that night I'd stay awake, staring at the bed above mine, my mind making up the worst case scenarios that didn't happened, but that gave me nightmares later on. .

This time however, my seemingly worst case scenario was real and my nightmares were my own memories.

For a while, Jay was haunted by his memories every waking minute of his life. When he came home from the war, it wasn't for ever. It was just long enough for our mother to die, for his relationship with our father to be destroyed, and to damage ours to the point where I would refuse to talk to him for two years.

When he came home again, I refused to answer his calls, to busy getting drunk out of my mind every to drown out my sorrow from missing my mother. What I realize now though, is that he was crying for help.

After returning home Jay was rejected by everyone, especially his family. No one wanted the war vet with outlasting mental disruption to be placed with any kind of responsibility. Ironically, if I had known, I would have been able to tell people, that no, that's actually the worst thing you can do. Everyone, by not giving trusting him with even the basic responsibilities, only encouraged his idea that he was worthless.

I never really found out what happened. The only thing mouse has told me is that it was close. It was really really close.

He never elaborated on that, and he didn't have to. The simple context of that conversation implied that Mouse was nearly unsuccessful in stopping a suicide attempt from my brother. That as what really woke me up. After that little revelation I tried to make an effort to rebuild our relationship. It worked, but only to a point. We talked more, but there was this underlying feeling of 'too little, too late'.

I can't put into words the amount of pain I feel knowing that when my brother thinks of the worst days of his life, he'll know I was nowhere to be found. I'm supposed to protect him. I'm supposed to _protect him_ and for two and a half years we almost hated each other.

It hurts almost as much as when he got shot. I'm not new to the concept of Jay being severely hurt on the job. It was more of the _how_ and _why_ that caught me off guard and that sent me reeling.

' _Severe PTSD?! How could I not have known he has PTSD?!'_ I remember screaming in my head, over and over until I was screaming it at him. And like Jay, he just took it, and stared back, refusing to retaliate.

That was also, coincidentally, right when his night terrors started.

There are 52 little specks of white on the ceiling where the grey paint chipped off. I roll over and decide to study the wall for a nice change of venue.

" _...and yet you do the same."_ I close my eyes and sigh. He's right. We are much too alike. Same stubbornness and anger. Same hidden anguish, not quite faded from our childhood. Same guilt. Same reasons not to be.

"What the fuck am I doing." I whisper aloud, grinding my palms into my eyeballs. I'm about to go and hit myself with a lamp or something so I can fall asleep when I hear the sound of retching down the hall. Climbing out of bed, I pad slowly towards the bathroom where, sure enough, Jay is hunched over the toilet, puking his guts up. I grab a small cup and fill it using the sink.

Slowly his dry heaves diminish. I help him stand, handing him the water, which uses to rinse.

"Thought I was quiet." He croaks, the acidic bile having burned his throat.

"You were. But I wasn't sleeping." I glance at his sweat soaked night shirt.

"Are you okay?"

"Probably shouldn't have eaten right after my three hour run." I flush the toilet, more than slightly confused.

"What the hell did you eat, there's like nothing in the fridge."

"No, there was pizza in there."

"The last time we got pizza was over a week ago." He grins sheepishly.

"Oops."

"Yeah, _oops._ C'mon idiot, you should drink something." He grabs my arm before we can reach the doorway, face turning a shade of green before he rushes back to the toilet, puking up mostly watery bile. The vomit turns to dry heaves, which leaves his face red and body shaking with the strain.

Wrapping my arms around his torso, I help him lean backwards away from the bowl that I immediately flush to relieve it of its contents. I then join my brother on the floor, sitting back against the wall. Jay's breathing heavily, eyes closed, noise pointing to the ceiling.

"I didn't know."

"I'm sorry?" Jay rasps in response.

"I didn't know that is was that hard. For you, I mean."

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"You're wrong."

"What?" I stare at my brother uncomprehendingly.

"You're wrong." He repeats, as is it's the most easiest thing in the world.

"It wasn't just 'for me.' You knew how hard it was, you _know_ how hard it is because despite what you want to tell yourself you are just like me. And that scares the shit outta you. That you could possibly be just like you fucked up army ranger brother."

"Jay-"

"I mean it makes no sense to you, that you could possibly be as bad off as me. I went through a war. You went through too much to drink every night. I mean how dare you start to show that you, the great Doctor Will Halstead of Chicago Med, might actually have to deal with his issues?!"

"Jay please let me just-"

"I get it Will. I get that you think you don't deserve to feel what you feel because you didn't do what I did. Because all that death you saw in Africa did nothing to you. Because watching your own mother die slowly while your only brother and father got into a fist fight outside her hospital room, did _absolutely nothing_ to you." I manage a sniff, trying to figure where exactly he's going on this.

"I meant it brother. You are so scared of being me because you think that you don't have the right to be me." Jay continues, slouching more against the wall.

"When are you going to realize that one-you aren't me, and two-you have every right to _not_ be okay after all this."

"But you-"

"-Fought a war. Yes. I'm aware." He looks at me.

"That doesn't change what you've been through. I know….that despite what I've told you ten bazillion times, what happens to me is not your fault." Anger suddenly surges in my gut.

"You have no idea what I feel Jay, what I see at night-"

"Yup."

"Can you please stop cutting me off?!" I yell/laugh, the anger dissolving in my expulsion of the truth.

"Aw where's the fun in that?"

"Stop being an asshole Jay."

"It's why you love me."

"Actually, no. That's not it."

"Oh. Cool. All these years I just thought..." Laughing again, a real one this time, I punch him in the arm.

"Ouch."

"Oh please. You didn't even feel it."

"True." I stare at him.

"It's like three in the morning you know. We should get some sleep. Some _real_ sleep." He nods, yawning.

"Good thing you don't have work tomorrow. Ha. Oh wait."

"HaHa. I'm just dying of laughter." I deadpan as we both stand, groaning at our stiff muscles. As we exit the bathroom and start to head to our respective beds I grab his arm.

"Jay."

"Yeah."

"Thank you." He smirks.

"For what? I only told you the opposite of what you say in your sleep. And trust me. For a someone who was dead quiet as kid, you talk a _lot_."

* * *

 **As I said. Words blurring. This is absolute shit. I'm going to bed.**

 **My dears, I beg you to review. Absolutely desperate right now. Thank you.**


	4. Open Your Eyes

**Hey, well in my defense it hasn't been a full two months.**

 **That's also a horrible defense, but winter is my busy season. Lucky for you guys we hittin spring, which is my less busy season.**

 **That's the hope anyway.**

* * *

 **Atwater's P.O.V.**

"I mean, I'm not really that new anymore, but it's not like I'm close to Jay."

"But you work with him. In the same unit."

"Yes ma'am."

"Kevin?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me ma'am."

"Ok."

"Good. You said you aren't close to Jay. That would make Ruzek your partner in crime then."

"I guess you could say that." The woman balks at what I thought was an innocent statement.

"I guess?!" She cries. Whipping out a file from her stack she quickly flips to a page before reading off a quote.

"Ruzek and Atwater couldn't be any closer of friends unless they slept in the same bed!"

"That's gross."

"Sure. But I'm pretty certain it's true. Everyone I've talked to from your team all say the same thing. You guys are best friends. Even gonna be the best man to his wedding, if it ever happens." I cough uncomfortably, trying to read this lady. Which is pretty impossible.

"You partnered multiple times, have drinks a lot, are the two pranksters of the whole group. Two peas in a pod right?" Again I don't answer, intent on trying to understand where she is going with this.

"Do you think that maybe if you'd paid more attention to someone other than Ruzek you might have noticed what was going on with the team? Or that maybe, if you had been better friends with Jay you could have helped him? Perhaps you feel guilty that you didn't know about his struggle until after he was put on leave."

Damn. I suppose I should have been prepared for this. Dawson said she was good, I just didn't think anyone could be _that_ good. She basically saw right through me, with two freaking sentences. She 'hmph's at my reluctance to answer. She pulls out a slip of paper, scribbling a couple words down.

"Well, I certainly hope that's not the case. Because if it is you should certainly reconsider on the grounds that Jay had been hiding from everyone and even if you had noticed something was wrong, there was nothing you could have done to help him." She hands the slip.

"Detective Atwater, you are cleared for duty. If you could send in the, uh, other pea, that'd be great."

* * *

 **Ruzek's P.O.V.**

"I just don't see why I have to be here." She blinks.

"I don't see why I should care." Comes the snipping reply. She pegged my emotional state the second I walked and we both knew it. It'd been a long twenty minutes filled with snarky accusation responded to by equally snarky replies. I've been to a therapist only once before and man, it was nothing like this.

"Aren't you supposed to be trying to get me to open up or something?"

"Well, since you so clearly aren't going to…" Growling in frustration, I decide to just throw some words at her. I really, really, just want to get back to work. Everyone's been off for over a week while we wait for our psych appointments to be scheduled.

"Look, I did what I supposed to during the raid, I helped Antonio with Jay, I'm not going to fall apart over what happened. It life and it sucks but it's what we do. Are we done?" Her face turns hard and suddenly I realize that my entire delivery of those words were wrong. I made it sound like after I got him in the ambo I was done with him.

Unfortunately, as I look at it now, I basically was.

"No, we are not _done_. Because you were close to Jay, you were his friend. He helped train you and he was your pal before Atwater ever came into the picture. And when you made it clear that you two would never be super close, Halstead accepted it without a word and backed up. But you didn't even notice, just like you didn't notice Burgess in pain until it was too late and you didn't notice how bad Jay was getting until it was too late!"

Ooh. Ouch. That one hurt.

"Did I touch you inner anger _now_ , detective?" She says, with venom in her voice. It's the one thing that reaches me through the explosion of guilt her words brought. Because she is right. I was supposed to notice, supposed to ask him if he was okay, see if he needed anything. And after the hospital I was just so mad at him for every wrong reason I just…

I left him. I let him get worse and worse and didn't do damn thing about it. I accept that but only through the surprise that comes with a simple realization.

She's protective of him. Of Jay. She genuinely cares for him and sees us as a threat. Is that why she does this? To keep him safe? Make sure we are sane so we can't hurt him or something?!

"Why do you care so much?" I ask, my voice annoyingly weak. She blinks, face calmer now.

"Because I know all of you. I know how much you care for each other. You _are_ a family. But you are hurting. And it's making you do things you would never do, things you shouldn't do to one another. It's hurting yourself and it's hurting each other and it's my job to make you see that so that you _stop._ "

"Okay...but why Jay? Why push him?" Looking past me for a moment the woman swallows before turning to me with a steel in her eye.

"Jay Halstead is your glue. Your sticky substance that holds everyone in place. He's protective and strong and dangerous when threatened but he is still the person you can trust no matter what. And all of you, every one, is so scared that that person is gone. It's why you feel guilty about what happened to him and even though you know it's not your fault that doesn't make the guilt go away. It just makes it worse."

"What happened to Jay and Erin wasn't your fault, despite how hard you try to think so." She grins at my so obviously down cast face.

"Second year detective Adam Ruzek, you are cleared for duty. Please send in your ex fiance for me."

* * *

 **Burgess's P.O.V.**

"And you told him this?"

"Yes."

"What'd he say?" The woman in front of me exclaims, sounding more interested in the gossip than the actual therapy of it.

"Didn't give him the chance."

"Was it the right decision for you?"

"It was then, yes."

"But not now."

"Still trying to figure that out." I try hard to control my voice on the last one, but the heartache that centers around Ruzek makes my voice crack slightly.

"Okay." The girl leans back in her chair and seems resigned to sit in silence for the next twenty minutes.

"Okay? That's it? We're not going to talk about anything else?" She seems mildly concerned at best by my words.

"Well, what would you like to talk about?"

"I don't know! You the therapist! Aren't you supposed to make me spill my guts or something?" She laughs.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that's my job. Or at least part of it."

"Part of it."

"Well after I get you to spill your deepest darkest secrets, I have to help you move on from them. I help you heal. So, since you obviously came in here hoping that I would make you talk about something, why don't you tell me what that something is?"

"I…" The words that seemed to sit on my tongue earlier die away and I'm left with that horrible feeling in my heart that's been plaguing me for a while.

"Don't know?"

"No." I whisper sheepishly.

"Well what hurts?"

"Excuse me?"

"Think of everything you can that has made you feel like you do know. Ignore Ruzek for this one." I do as she asks, though odd of a request. I go through the last six months, searching through all my bad days and-

"The hospital."

"After Keys?"

"Yes."

"Good. Why."

"Why what?"

"What happened exactly, in that hospital on that day, that hurt you." Trying to swallow past the lump in my throat I reply.

"Because I had to choose. I thought that wasn't fair."

"What do you mean you had to choose?"

"After Jay and Erin went into surgery, Will came to talk to us. He looked so destroyed, I thought they were both dead. And then when he told us that the odds of us ending the day with both our detectives alive were nonexistent, I felt so torn, so crushed. I felt I had to choose who to hope for. Choose who I was never going to talk to again." A tear slips unbidden down my cheek. She nods for me to continue.

"I know that it wasn't really up to me and that I didn't really have to choose. But the way Will said it was as if it was one of the other. Like we had a choice. And I remember thinking, for a split second, that it should be both of them, because intelligence can't survive without either of them. And I remember thinking how it wasn't _fair_. It wasn't _fair_ that Nadia died or that Erin couldn't deal with it or that Jay had to get kidnapped. It _wasn't fair_ that it had to happen-"

"To you?" She interrupts my rant for a moment, a small smirk of amusement written on her face.

"Yeah, I know, life isn't fair." I sigh.

"But…"

"But this...this shouldn't have happened to _them_. Jay went through a lot overseas and Erin had a shitty childhood. She's went through so much with Nadia and Jay was really losing himself without her…it just didn't seem right that they'd have to go through that." She closes her notebook and scribbles on something.

"You want my honest opinion?" She asks without looking up.

"I do."

"I don't think you are mad at life or are angry at yourself. I think you are grieving for a friend and just as importantly, you are morning what was lost. That life that ended the second you heard the news from Will Halstead that day. Everything changed so now everything and everyone is different. You miss what was before, when it was just solving cases and catching perps. Life was simple. _This-"_ She points to her pad, implying my current life situation.

" _This_ is hard. _This_ is what is now and _this_ is going to show you who you are." She gives a piece of paper.

"You are cleared to work the beat, officer Burgess. Send me the Roman god on your way out, yeah?"

* * *

 **Roman's P.O.V.**

"How exactly did you know Jay?" The women in front of me doesn't bother looking up at me, instead keeping a focus on her paperwork.

"He was in the unit Intelligence. I worked with them often."

"With your partner, Kim Burgess, is that correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Jeez! What is it with you intelligence boys! Stop calling me Ma'am. It makes me feel old." She says with a small smile. Finally putting down her pen the women sits back in her chair, looking at me across a heavy wooden desk.

"Now I understand we have a short session here. I know that this was made mandatory by your commander, but I just want you to understand that I have reviewed you record, previous psych evals, as well as your known social record. That said, I don't need to do much. So." She leans back in her chair, taking a swig of water.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"No." I catch the 'ma'am' just in time. I may be pissed off at the lady, but I really don't want her rooting around in my head or requesting me for more sessions. Both of which I'm sure she is capable of if I got on her bad side.

"Nothing?"

"Nope." She swivels back and forth in her chair, staring at me.

"Won't even tell me why you're mad at me?"

I don't respond.

"I mean, I just met you. Kinda at a loss as to how in five minutes I managed to piss you off that bad."

"Oh it's nothing." I assure her, my tone quite obvious I'm being sarcastic. She meets my stare no problem.

"Okay Roman. But if it really annoys you that much, I'm sure you be able to get something out of Will."

"Excuse me?"

"I know Jay abides to my rule around everyone else, so I'm not about to jeopardize his only stable relationship by telling him he can't talk to his brother anymore." I'm way beyond confused until she mentions her rule.

"I didn't think you'd be that concerned about what goes on in everyone else's therapy sessions-"

"That's not what I'm pissed about!" The words pop out of my mouth with unconventional power, Completely interrupting her sentence. I just couldn't stand her describing me like some fourteen year old gossip girl. She blinks, mocking surprise.

"Oh? Then what exactly are you so mad about? Clearly it's something _I did_ , but not to you."

"You wouldn't get it." I mutter.

"Try me." She says in a hard voice. We stare for a moment, each trying to calculate what the other will do. Finally I ground out an answer.

"I just don't agree with taking away a cop's badge because they said the wrong words."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"Jay was doing fine until you took away his badge." The shock that is expressed on her face is satisfying. The anger that follows is less so.

"Fine? _Fine?!_ Jay was self destruction around you, but you were all to blind to see it! It wasn't until I said he was unfit for duty did you all really see what he'd been doing!"

"He was getting better! He was ok, and then you took away his brass, and he didn't know how to cope! You just made him worse!" Her mouth open with what must be a sharp retort, but she seems to make an effort to close it. Breathing out she calms slightly.

"Roman, just because he didn't show symptoms around you or at work, didn't mean he was getting better." She pauses as though weighing her words.

"In fact, for him in particular...it meant he was getting worse. When I first met with him, it took me three minutes to realize that he should have never been cleared to go back to work after the incident with Keys. That's how bad he was." She glances at the clock.

"Sean. I know why that irked you more than you think it should have. You respect Halstead. You respect what the badge stands for and you know what that badge means, both to yourself and to Jay. To see it get taken away from him, was to be scared, because you knew how you would react if it happened to you. And the anger and fear you felt scared the shit outta you. So, in need of someone blame you went against me."

There is a small period of silence where I gaze, lost, at the woman in front of me. Finally a timer goes off, indications the end of our session. She scribbles something on a piece of paper, handing it to me as I stand there still reeling from her words.

"You are cleared for duty, patrolman. Please send in your tech specialist on the way out."

* * *

 **Mouse's P.O.V.**

"So, out of curiosity, do you... _ever_ sit still?"

"Uh...no, not really. No ma'am."

"I think I need to make a fucking public service announcement: Stop calling me Ma'am, I'm that old."

"Sorry."

"No you're not." I swallow. It's too quiet in here, really it is. It's like the air has this really oppressive quality to it, like it's slowly getting heavier and heavier, slowly putting more and more pressure on me.

"Mouse."

"Huh?"

"I've been told you always do the whole 'zoning out thing' so I'm not really worried about it. And, I understand that you do not have a badge, so you are technically not in need of a reinstatement letter. However, I am also aware that as part of Voight's team you-"

Her sentence cuts off as I flinch at the name. A slightly furrowed brow and for a moment confusion clouds her eyes.

"Why is that a bad thing exactly?"

She has really nice carpet. And paint. Maybe when this is all over Jay can help me redo the apartment.

"Mouse."

Ridiculously white though. Like how can you even keep white carpet this clean?

"Mouse look at me."

I can't. Doesn't she understand that? I can't.

There's a sigh.

"What was the last thing he said to you?"

"He told me I needed to leave."

"Not Jay. Voight." I stare at her as lovely as possible. I glare at her.

"I know."

"Why'd he say it?"

"He was grieving. I was intruding. Wasn't his fault."

"And you think its yours?"

"I asked a man who was mourning a daughter to help me find the reason she was dead. Yes. It was my fault."

"You think Jay is the reason Erin is dead?"

"No. But I think despite how much Hank Voight doesn't want to, he does blame Jay."

"Explain that one."

"You that stupid?" I sneer.

"Excuse me?"

"The _only_ reason Erin was there was because Voight sent her in. He blames himself more than anything but you know the only other variable there? She had to go in because Jay was kidnapped. Jay survived. Erin didn't. Doesn't matter who you are there is still going to be that voice that whispers ' _it was his fault.'_ "

A pause, one filled with thought. I go back to staring at the carpet and figiting in the too comfy chair.

"Does Jay think the same thing?"

"What?" I ask in failure to see her meaning. How can Jay hate himself for sending Erin in when he clearly didn't-

"Does Jay blame Voight?"

Oh.

That.

…

Shit.

"No." Damn my voice sounded weird.

"No?"

"Nope."

"Ok then. Who does he blame?"

"Him. Keyes maybe. Definitely not Voight." She blinks.

"You serious?"

"He blames himself for not being able to help more, for not doing something...the tough part with him is getting him to see he couldn't have done something. Once he sees that, he tends to start to heal, to see what really happened. Last time I got something out of him, was a string of hatred directed towards Keyes. Not Voight."

Another blink. This one in surprise.

"Huh. Well that's helpful." Her gaze flickers around the room for a moment before returning to her notebook. Her eyes slyly find the floor while she asks her question, before snapping back up to my face to gauge a reaction.

"So who do you blame then?" Every muscle tenses before I am able to stop it, clearly giving away my distress. Damn it. Now she knows.

"I mean Jay doesn't put the error on Voight. So why do you?"

"Where'd you get the carpet?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Sears, ironically."

"Is it shag? It's really nice."

"Thanks. It's called 'Mouse is trying horrible to avoid answering my question because he can't figure out who he's more angry at: His boss, his best friend, or himself."

"You know, I thought therapists were supposed to be nice. And compromising."

"I hate stereotypes." Her words seem to physically hit me. God she sounds just like her.

"So did he."

"Jay?"

"Yeah. It's why he fell in love with her." She seems to understand something deeper in the words. Her face changes and she shifts in her seat, assuming a less aggressive stance. One that seems to imply her attention to me. The air stops being so oppressive all of a sudden.

"It wasn't sudden was it."

"No. At first...well I wasn't there at first, but he told me about it once. The first night after I had just gotten a job and closed the first case. He told me all about it. How they went from strangers to two people forced to deal with each other. They annoyed each other constantly. Then one day...she said something, and it was like a punch in the gut for him. Knocked him for a loop, you know?"

"What was it about?"

"I don't even remember. I think it had to do with her past or maybe it was just a sentence she said to some victim on a case. But after that...all he talked about was her. How she looked different to him, acted different. Like he suddenly saw her as she was. And to quote him, he was 'in love with her before he could even understand was happening.'"

"Any particular reason why he would need to understand?"

"What?"

"Well you said that like if he knew he was falling in love with her, then maybe he would have done something to not get so invested."

My mind gets launched into overdrive. Do I tell her? Do I need to? Well, what happens if I don't? She obviously knows I'm hiding something. Or does she. Does she? She definitely does now, I've taken too long to answer. But what if Jay gets mad? What will he do? How would he even find out? Would she tell him? Shit. _Shit._ Or I could tell him. He'd want to hear it from me. But then I'd have to see him tonight. Oh well. Maybe we could talk, because I seriously don't think I can handle being alone after this.

"Erin wasn't the first person Jay fell in love with. At least, you know, not the first girl. He has Will and everything but that's kinda different. At some point Jay would learn how to live without his brother. It'd be tough but he could do it."

"You don't think he can do it with Erin?"

"I think that Erin hurt him ten times more than Atalanta ever did. And...no. I don't think he's ever going to get past this. He's never going to be that Jay I deployed with. Ever."

"Who was Atalanta?"

"She was...she was everything to him. I mean they were young, and he, Jay I mean, hadn't ever really feel for anybody. He'd gone on dates, sure, and there was Ally for a little while, but he'd never fallen hard for anybody, never gotten let down by a girl yet. This was also a pretty bad time too, his mom was just diagnosed with cancer and...well he needed an outlet. She was it."

"That didn't go well."

"No. No of course not. But for a while I- _we_ thought it was great for him. He was so happy, they both were. We got our goofy, dorky Jay Halstead back. "

"We?" I shift uncomfortably, wondering of telling her this is illegal.

"Our team in Afghanistan was decided long before we were old enough to be in draft."

"Gotcha. But she wasn't part of that?"

"No. Some of our friends...specifically the females didn't trust her. Thought she wasn't good for him."

"And they were right."

"Of course. But their criticism just fueled Jay's passion to be with her. He loved her more and more and it looked like she did the same to him."

"You think she ever loved him?"

"I have no idea. I feel like at one point she might have convinced herself she did. But then she betrayed him, so if she did, I honestly don't consider that any form of love."

"What'd she do?"

I can't. I can't tell her, that would...no. Just so many 'no's to that one.

"She wrapped him up in light then broke him." As soon as she sees she's not getting much more from me on the subject, a quick nod is given and she switches directions.

"Soooo...what you were mad at him because he loved again?"

"What? No way. Jay was happy."

"But you saw it coming didn't you. You were afraid. But you were more scared of what would happen if you brought up the subject with Jay."

"They were cops. They both put their hearts into what they and it made them damn good ones. But Jay has a tendency of getting hurt, and I thought that at some point Erin would distance herself from him to protect her heart. In the process she would unknowingly destroy his."

"So then you don't blame Voight at all, do you?"

"I wanted to. I did. For a while."

"But…"

"But then I looked at what had really happened and all I could see was Erin's love for Jay overriding her concern for her own well being. I could see Voight's concern for his detective pushing away the anger he felt against his daughter and I could see his love for Erin and his respect for her strength. I knew if it was Erin in that building being held captive, and Jay was out of a badge...it would have happened just the same."

"So you pushed the blame to the only person left. You. Because blaming Jay wasn't an option."

"The only variable left in the equation." I whisper, seeing her entire plan laid out in front me of me. Holy fuck she knew exactly where she was going with this the second I mentioned Jay.

"I knew you'd never openly admit it, but now that you... _kind of_ have, I'm going to give you the all clear. But I would like you, if you feel comfortable enough that is, to come by again. Doesn't have to be this week or this month even. Just...whenever you need it. And if you decide to do semi regular sessions, I'll be sure to clear my schedule."

"Why?" She flashed a mischievous grin, then says with a straight face:

"That way we'll have plenty of time to discuss the inner workings of correct carpet selection."

* * *

 **Tada! So next chapter the fall might take a little bit longer but hold one for me yah? It's almost done.**

 **AND HOLY SHIT THAT EPISODE HAD SO MANY FEELS IN IT I AM ACTUALLY PRETTY SURE I AM GOING TO MAKE A STORY THAT IS SOLEY LIKE TEN DIFFERENT ALTERNATE SCENARIOS THAT COULD HAVE (SHOULD HAVE) HAPPENED!**

 **Review saves a duck in from being ubducted by aliens.**

 **Save the ducks!...(also tell me if you liked or not. Or have any suggestions for the screaming message written above.)**

 **Peace y'all. :D**


	5. How's It Going To Be

**So here we go. Things hopefully will start to make sense after this, although next chapter will really help put this all in order for you and then...then it gets interesting. And possibly evil. *grins manically***

 **Also, real quick, I want to let you guys know how much I appreciate you all as my readers. Recently I got a message from one of you, and it really helped me finish this. And made my day.**

 **Thanks for giving me a reason to write guys. It means a lot more than you think.**

* * *

 **Will's P.O.V.**

"So why are you here, exactly?"

"Um...I'm in a therapist's office, I didn't think that would be hard to figure out."

"No, it's not. At least it wouldn't be. Except I heard that you work with a certain Doctor Charles, whom I have met, and is just as skilled at providing counseling as I am. So if you were just looking for therapy, I'm pretty sure he is cheaper."

"I...don't think I'd be able to work next to him if he knew all my...thoughts." Well, that's partially true. She 'hmm's.

"Maybe. But from what I hear, Charles does not give up a patient that easily, especially a friend."

"I'd been working on him for a while." She stares at me, eyes hard, before dropping them to the pad that sits in her lap. She hasn't written a single thing down in the last thirty minutes I've been subjected to her scrutiny.

"Or... maybe you just wanted to know what it is like."

"Excuse me?"

"For your brother. It must be a weird feeling. You feel like Jay is a million miles away from you, yet you are the closest you have ever been. Perhaps you felt, that by experiencing something that he does, you might be able to shorten that distance, if only slightly."

Well...shit. This isn't going as planned.

"I-...no that's not-" My stammered words only serve to betray the confusion plaguing my mind. It was good for a while, no extremely hard questions, and the tougher ones she let me play off with some humor. It was going well. Then...how the fuck dies she just pop these things into the air like it was the most obvious thing?

"Don't try to lie to me Will. You see, I had the pleasure of a talking to Dr. Charles before you arrival and over the telephone. I mean since you are switching therapists, your information comes with you. And he informed me that you stopped seeing him after just two and a half session, the last cut short by ' _family emergency_.'"

Damn it.

"So, since I refuse to waste this entire hour how about I make you a deal."

"A...what?"

"A deal. Noun. A business transaction. Normally between two or more people or their companies."

"I know what it is but…"

"But what? You haven't even heard it yet. Look here's my offer, so you can think it over. You can take it, and maybe I let you go unscathed, or you can sit here for the rest of our time and I can call you boss and take you off work while you go to mandatory weekly sessions with me."

"That's not much of a choice." She gives a cheshire grin.

"No sir, it is not. But you still haven't heard it yet."

"Go on then."

"Well, I figure since you are here for the next twenty five minutes you are going to have plenty of time to tell me all about it."

"About what?" Her level gaze concerns me. I don't think I am going to like her answer, but I have a compelling feeling that I will tell her anyway.

"That night. With Jay."

"You are going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of them."

"Don't play with me Will. You know what I mean. The night on the roof."

"You mean the one where he attacked the water heater on the roof? Or the one where he almost froze to death on the roof. Again, more specifics."

"I want to know, first hand, from _you_ , what his first night terror was like."

"Oh. That." My throat loses the ability to produce a strong voice, the two words coming out soft and choked.

"Yes. _That_. And then, when you are done, I will tell you about _my_ night with Jay. Only, not a roof."

"You...had a...night?" I ask, voice still annoyingly weak. My head hurts from the rate things have turned away from my control. She smiles at my confusion, rolling her eyes.

"Not like that you pervert. I mean the night near similar to yours, except...not really."

"Wha-why-"

"Hey, You get answers when I do. So talk."

I don't.

"Ok. Well. I have the transcripts from the doctor. So if you want we could start there. I believe the last words you said were 'fuck you and your rules Charles, I have to do something." She folds her hands in her lap, a smirk painted on her already sassy face.

"That's some naughty language there Will. Want to tell me what exactly prompted such vulgar words?" I huff at her joking tone.

"Not really." I mutter.

"Well let's start with the phone call. Charles rule is no phones or such during the sessions. You cell went off right? Who was it? Who was so important that you'd stop the clock and get that angry at him when he told you to put it away?"

My throat closes making it hard to swallow. I really, really don't want to talk about that. At all. Fuck, I'd rather have to count how many times I wet the bed as a kid than talk about that.

"Mouse." I choke out. "It was mouse."

"And what did he say?"

"I don't remember."

"Well what did it lead to then?"

"The single most terrifying day of my life."

"Compared to what?" Her voice is half a laugh, slightly easing my tense nerves.

"Every other freaking day of my life!" This brings on a full blown bark of laughter, and for the first time all session she smiles at me. In this moment it's like something is passed between us. Amy residual anger we had, for one reason or another, leaves along with the tension in the room. In that smile she has, I know she offers no judgement or pity. Just understanding and maybe some shared empathy.

As she stops her deep chuckle, her eyes grow serious again, as does our demeanor. I know I have to continue, but it's no easier than before to get the words past my mouth.

"He had gone over to Jay's apartment after his session with you. Said he wanted to talk to him. But Mouse had to go to the precinct first to submit all his paperwork to the desk Sergeant so he could get back to work. And then he missed the subway, and he didn't have car, so by the time he made it over there it was late. I was with Charles then because it was really the only time I could do it, otherwise I would have given him a ride. So he got there, expecting Jay to be sleeping or watching a documentary or something but instead…"

…

" _What do you mean he's not there?!" I yell as I walk, fast paced, to the back exit of the hospital._

 _"I mean he's not here! Cell phone is charging, gun and badge is in the safe, everything's where it should be except him!"_

 _"What about his keys?" Attempting to find mine, I finally succeed in starting the car. There's a short period of silence as I pull out of the parking lot, before finally there's a reply._

 _"No, they're here. So is his wallet."_

 _"Ok. Ok." I try to calm both of us down as I speed through Chicago. "What makes you think he didn't just go for a run or something? He could be at the cemetery."_

 _"Because the door was wide open and his running shoes are still here."_

 _"Well, what isn't there?!"_

 _"...his combat boots." I audibly swallow, whispering a few curses as I round a tight corner._

 _"Alright, just...go to the grave okay? Just check. I'm almost to the apartment. I'll wait there in case he comes back."_

 _Silence._

 _"Mouse?!"_

 _"Yeah! Yeah, okay. I'll go, but Will-" My tires screech as I blow through a red light._

 _"I know Mouse. I know." We hang up and five minutes later I'm skidding to a halt in the apartment complex's parking lot._

 _His apartment is lifeless, only the oven light outlining details for me so I don't trip over anything. Sure enough, everything is in his place, just like Mouse said. Not a single thing gives me a clue as to where Jay went. It's possible that this is work related, that maybe he as taken, but the house wouldn't have been this organized. Jay would have fought, tooth and nail to get away. And no decent captor would leave the door open like that._

 _Unless they were in a hurry from all the attention my brothers screaming and fighting would have brought. Yet there is no police here so maybe no one heard anything._

 _But they could have seen something._

 _Excited by the thought I leave his-our apartment, crossing the hall to knock on the door of his neighbor. A girl answers-her name is Stephanie and I probably would have asked her out before this if my stupid crush on Manning didn't get in the way. She smiles at me and proceeds to readily answer my questions without much thought as to why I'm asking them._

" _You sure?" She nods._

 _"Yeah I'm positive. He went into that stairwell as I was coming up with my laundry-those stairs only go up. They're a service stair for the roof. The other set is on the complete opposite end of the hall." She looks at me concerned._

 _"Is he okay? He was acting kind of weird. Didn't even say hi. Just keep going like he hadn't heard me. " I nod vigorously, trying to piece together what little information she gave me while texting Mouse. I barely mutter a good bye, too busy trying not be terrorized by what he might be doing on the roof. She yells something at me as I sprint down the hall toward the steps she indicated, though I don't hear here no respond._

 _He wouldn't be up there for that right? I mean why wouldn't he just use his gun? Did the roof just seem easier? I know he's been killing himself over Erin but this...he wouldn't. He couldn't._

 _As I slam open the door to the roof, my mind is screaming at me that he did and now he's gone and I wasn't here to stop him._

 _"JAY!" The scream tears from my throat as my eyes search widely for some hope that will see him sitting somewhere, maybe just needing some fresh air. It is a hope that's entertained by whatever higher power there is as I notice the figure to my right. He is clothed in black, silhouetted by the city lights from below as he stands, perfectly still, on the edge of the concrete._

 _"Jay?" I call, slowly starting to walk towards him. He doesn't move, and the closer to him I get the more I can tell something is wrong. He doesn't respond to any of my words, question or statement alike. He just...stands, swaying slightly a couple of times. Finally, my feet step onto the edge of the roof, no more than five feet from my brother._

 _I can see his face now, details lit by the street lights below. Nothing out of the ordinary is expressed there, until I realize that is out of the ordinary. Jay's face always has emotion on it, not matter how slight. But right now, his face matches his stance-expressionless and void of anything human. Just a face._

 _What really scares me though, is how his face matches his eyes. Those deep, blue eyes are blank. Dead. Empty of anything real. If the eyes are the window to the soul then nobody's home where Jay is concerned._

 _"Jay? You in there buddy?" Again no answer, just another slight sway. I realize how close we are to the edge of the roof, knowing that if he loses his balance now, even in the slightest, he'd be over. Before I can fully contemplate if that's what he's been trying to do, a word finally slips through the air, coming from someone other than me,_

 _"Will?" His face and eyes stay as they were, blank and cold, filled with an emotionlessness transfixed on nothing._

 _"Yeah little brother it's me. What are you doing up here Jay? It's like two degrees and you're not even wearing a jacket." I don't give two shits about the worry in my voice that clearly says so much more than my words. He still won't move, won't so much as blink. My brain is going a million miles per hour, desperately searching through my medical knowledge for what this might be._

 _Jay is silent again and I look down, eyes flitting around the street like it might hold something to help me. Instead all it does is give me a horrible sense of vertigo and nausea. If one of us where to slip...or jump...I'd never get that image out of my head._

 _However this is where the confusion really has me. Mouse had told a while ago, before all this shit with Keyes happened, why Jay would never, ever try to kill himself. He says it's the ultimate act of selfishness, the true mark of a coward. We both understood that my brother would rather be paralyzed for life and framed for murder than be labeled a coward. It was this general knowledge between the three of us, that Jay just wouldn't do it,_

 _Ever._

 _So if he's not trying to jump then what other reason would we have to be in this situation?!_

 _Okay Will think. Look at him. What are his symptoms. Wide eyes. Mostly unresponsive. Could move, must have walked up here. Shaky hands. Movements and words all completed through a daze, almost-_

 _Almost as if he was unconscious._

 _Oh fuck._

 _"Jay, Jay listen to me whatever you are seeing, where ever you think you are, you're not, I promise you. You're in chicago Jay, you're with me, 'you're safe okay, just…" I swallow hard, trying desperately to reason with that rational part of me that says he can't hear me. He said my name, yes, but that could just simply be part of whatever delusion he is subconsciously trapped in._

 _"...just don't move, okay?" As if to spite my words, his feet shuffle closer to the edge, so that his toes don't even have platform underneath them. My heart is pounding in my throat, adrenaline spiking as my brother willingly inches closer to his death._

 _"Nonono Jay, man, you don't want to do that alright just-" Before I can even finish my plea, Jay does the unthinkable. He jumps._

 _Well, I take that back. Jump isn't the correct word. He more just closed his eyes and let his entire body go limp. Crumpling like a rag doll, he plunged over the roof, right as I lunged for him. I just barely managed to grab onto one of his arms, the momentum almost pulling me over the rough concrete with him. A strangled scream tears its way through my throat as I struggle to hold onto my brother._

 _Bloods pounding in my ears as his body dangles in my grasp. I can't even use both hands to help, as one is clinging to some piece of fixed metal that randomly appeared under my fingers to keep me from going over. My other hand is simply white knuckled on Jay's wrist and I can't fucking breath because I'm laying on my stomach and even though Jay hasn't been eating much since his partner died he's still a pretty heavy guy._

 _My hand starts to slip, a combination of moisture and weakness. A sob wracks my body as I realize that I am going to be the reason my brother dies. Crying out in agony I am unaware of the door crashing open behind me, or the presence of the other person until there is another hand on mine. And not the hand I would expect either, no this hand latches onto Jay's wrist two feet below and instantly strains to take some of the weight._

 _I stare, wide eyed and in shock, at Mouse's determined face as he pulls upward. His company is like a splash of cold water, and then suddenly I'm yanking up too, the both of us slowly shuffling backwards until we've gotten his hand to roof level. I hold him there as Mouse gets to a crouch, pulling up on his arm, then I grab his shoulders and Mouse eventually finds Jay's torso and heaves, all of us falling backward into a sprawled heap._

 _There's a moment of heavy breathing where I cling to Jay, holding his head to my shoulder to try and assure myself that he's here, not a splat on the pavement below. Mouse is on his knees next to me, a hand on my shoulder as he stares, worried, at his friend and team member._

 _"How'd you get here?" I choke out, my hands still gripping my brother close to me in residual fear and relief._

 _"I wasn't even three blocks away when you texted me. Sprinted." I accept the answer, but make no movement otherwise._

 _"Will...what was that?" A small smile graces my lips as Mouse instantly jumps to something other than suicide._

 _"A night terror. Of sorts."_

 _"Oh sorts? Will he walked up here. I thought Night terrors are just nightmares on steroids." I nod, clenching my jaw as my eyes burn._

 _"Normally they are. They vary with the person...I don't think he consciously knew what he was doing but...subconsciously…." Mouse's eyes widen._

 _"Will he would never...only if it was to save those he most cared about, only if he was forced and even then he wouldn't be able to. It would be like going against every fiber of his being. "_

" _I know. Which is why I think he waited so long. I think every part of him was going against it but...you know how torn he is about Erin's death. He's in so much pain but consciously, so long as he is in control he'd never end it." I strangle a sob before it can leave my throat. I face mouse, all my emotion painted unchecked on my face._

 _"I think it's a definite testament to his agony, that he's in so much pain his subconscious mind tried to end it." I choke out. Unable to stay after such words, Greg stands, running his hands through his hair and walking towards the edge of the roof, looking down and shuddering at the drop. I allow him the space, focusing my attention on the limp body in my arms._

 _My fingers check his pulse, noting the frigidness of his skin. He is breathing deep even breaths, the steady rhythm of it suggesting sleep. Good. I'll be able to play that off as a decent excuse for when Olinski comes-_

 _ **Shit**._

 _"Mouse, come on, we need to get him back inside." Footsteps are heard, then his hands are under one of Jay's shoulders, me under the other. Together we drag him off the roof and back down to the apartment._

 _"Mouse." I whisper as we shove Jay into bed. "Don't tell anyone about this okay? Not even Voight." He nods in understanding before moving to-_

"Why not?" I jolt at the words.

"W-what?" I stammer, momentarily thrown by the sudden ending to my memory.

"Why not tell them? Wasn't he off active duty?" She asks again, staring at me with an unreadable expression.

"Actually, he was shot the next day. I just…"

"Couldn't say anything because then you might get in trouble for withholding suspicious information."

"Yeah. Something like that." I glance around the room, noticing we are way past the end of my hour. She follows my gaze.

"Don't worry about that. I'm not charging extra." She jokes. At least, I hope.

"Why did you really not tell them." You know, considering how I came in here today, it's kind of ironic how easy it is to answer that.

"I knew they were all grieving for her and they knew Jay was taking it the hardest, even worse than Voight. I just thought… it was because of that. I didn't want my brother to be taken off of active duty, but I didn't want him to get hurt either. I assumed that the team would protect him. Which is stupid because they wouldn't always be with him but I ignored that part of the thought process just like I had refused to acknowledge all the signs."

"That he had PTSD."

"Yeah." The room falls silent after my whisper, a thoughtful look on her face.

"It started with a phone call for me too." I manage to raise my eyes to her as she continues.

"He was way past distraught...hell he was way past panic, long into hysteria. Mind you this is at two in the morning and he was lucky I had chosen that night to fill out all the paperwork the intelligence people had brought me, otherwise my phone would have been off. So he calls me, sobbing, telling me he doesn't know where he is and doesn't know what going on and he thinks he killed somebody."

"W-what?"

"He didn't, let me assure you. But he had blood covering his hands and clothes and such and was to... _confused_ to realize it was coming from him." I pause, mid sigh of relief. I was afraid I was about to become a verbal witness to murder. Unfortunately, I don't quite like the alternative.

"He was hurt?"

"Yes. Not badly or anything."

"Oh good."

"I mean it wasn't life threatening anyway."

She actually has the audacity to laugh under my glare.

"He fell down some concrete steps and skidded to a halt on a cheer up sidewalk. Lot of blood but really just a bunch of road rash."

"Just get on with it." I growl, a pit of anxiety opening in my stomach. She clears her throat, making an effort to wipe the amused look from her face.

"He had a dream. Night terror, sleepwalking, whatever you call it. He thought he was in a memory, back on an opt in benghazi. Jay had, without knowing, gotten out of bed, gotten dressed, locked his apartment, and proceeded to reenact the mission. His brain took in the outer surroundings, tailored his body to react simultaneously to both his memory and his real environment. Therefor, he didn't wake up until he slammed his face into a wall that wasn't there in his memory."

"Where was he?"

"The old warehouses in District nine." I shudder at the name, knowing he was lucky not to get shanked for being down there.

"I honestly think at a couple point he was fighting people in both reality and delusion, because he had a couple marks that wouldn't have come from stairs. But no one showed up in the hospital, so I assumed they'd be fine."

"You checked the hospitals?"

"Well duh. If he hurt somebody I think it'd be imperative we knew otherwise what's the point of trying to help him if I don't know all the facts?"

"That...made no sense."

"Precisely!" This makes us both laugh for a moment, (I couldn't tell you why, but I was so tired and it was like the funniest thing in the world.) Afterwards, once we've both sobered somewhat, I start to gather my things, donning my jacket and groaning about the time. We say our goodbyes, and she moves to sit at her desk, starting on some papers, but I'm left at the doorway, one more question sitting on my tonYgue

"He was okay, right?" She stops her actions, pen frozen mid sentence. In the dim light thrown by her desk lamp, so etching about her suddenly seems eerily recognizable.

"No. He wasn't. But he will be." I nod, but she doesn't see it, her pen resuming its task and I'm left walking out to my car, mind frozen on the familiarity of her face.

* * *

 **Yeah! All three stories updated in the same month. Progress!**

 **also, thinking of doing a series of one shots based off of 3x17 or anything else you Guys want, so I'm officially accepting prompts!**

 **REVIEW PLEEEEEEAAASE! :D**


	6. Round Here

**Okay, so we've reached the point where I don't know how to move on with this story. I know how it ends, but I don't know how to properly...get there so to speak.**

 **Therefor I apologize because this is going to be awful. The ending will be good but this…**

 **Yeah I'm just sorry. Really, really, sorry.**

 ***sighs***

 **Here we go.**

* * *

 **Jay's P.O.V.**

 _Everything hurts. One would think after a certain amount of time, the pain fades, but this is not the case. The electricity still sizzles in my veins, making my muscles twitch in the most painful spasms. The concrete floor is dirty and damp, the cold of the unlit room seems to soak into my body, making the overall soreness that much worse._

 _I wonder, if I die down here, will Intelligence find my body, or am I just going to end up a pile of bones found twenty years from now in the middle of a forest._

 _The light blinds me as the door opens, two of my new favorite tormentors striding in and lifting me harshly by the arms. They know I won't fight back. How could I fight these two behemoths when I can barely keep my eyes open?_

 _They drag me down hall after hall, up some stairs where it gets harder to breath. Then I'm tugged to this office room, expensive cabinets with vanity lighting and books on the walls, some really expensive carpet over hardwood flooring. That's all I get to see at first, because it hurts to much to move and I'm afraid to lift my head. Then god, or perhaps the devil, seems to send me some last stroke of comfort._

 _I know I'm about to die, I just thought they'd do it downstairs where blood spatter could be easily hosed off the walls. Be a bitch to clean it up here. Either way, this is surely the end, but at least what ever more powerful being there is that happened to be looking over my life, gives me that chance, the 'just one more chance' i begged for in my thoughts down in that basement._

" _Jay?"_

 _Because, oh my god, I'm hallucinating, but Erin, my Erin Lindsay, is standing in front of me. She looks so worried and I can see she's getting hit with withdrawals, and that she's terrified right now, but she'd never show it. That's my girl. That's the partner I know. The loss of her hits me suddenly, stealing what little breath I had. I want to sob._

 _She came back though. She came back for me. The past thirty six hours were for something, if it means Erin Lindsay pulled herself out of that hole. She moves to walk towards me, to comfort me or touch me or both, but the guy, Keyes main lieutenant, stops her. He says something about the files, and how he recognized one of them and now, oops, guess what, we lied about those CI files they're fakes._

 _Keyes gets this look on his face, not an angry, but one more of disappointment. Time to wrap up a failed business venture. I brace myself for the gun at the back of the head, and I think I write a quick apology in my head to Will and to Mouse, perhaps in the self comforting thought that it will reach them some how. Maybe I can send them a sign or something, some note on a fogged mirror from the afterlife, like in all those horror movies you see._

 _But my god, nothing, not the burns on my body or the bruises underneath my skin or the shattered heart that lies in chest hurts more than knowing I am bringing Ering with me. Nothing hurt more than the fact that now, she will die to. Because of me. But does it make it okay, that maybe she'll find Nadia wherever she ends up. Maybe she'll be happy there, free of pain. I could never be there with her in life, but maybe we can be together in whatever comes after._

 _That said, it still breaks me to watch the knife drive into her chest, just below the sternum. Or maybe it hits the bone dead on, and that's why her face crumples with agony._

 _I scream for all I'm worth, and it honestly feels like my soul is shattering as the light in her eyes dims and she collapses to the ground._

 _It's chaos now, people bursting in the room with guns raised even as my scream echoes in my lungs. But no, wait, this is wrong, because I'm not supposed to get to process her death, I'm supposed to be dead too, I'm supposed to go with her. I think this is why I run, even as I feel the bullet tear its way through my abdomen. I run forward because it's her and she came for me and I can't just leave her on the ground bleeding, I have to help her, I have to-_

 _I guess I need to breathe first. I can't though, and even in my state, with my thoughts running into each other, I know my lungs are supposed to be expanding and contracting and they aren't doing that. Damn it Antonio, if you aren't going to let me help her, at least help_ _ **me**_ _. Help me, help me Antonio, please. Help me find her again._

 _Help me find the air to breathe, help her because she always knew how to make me step back and take a breath and process things. Help me see her again._

 _Help me find that girl I fell in love with._

 _Help her find that girl too._

…

 _I can see her now. I can see her. She looks so happy to see me, and god she looks so beautiful in that white dress, I almost forget how to breath. Which is a weird concept, considering it was just so hard to do so. Now, near her, it's like my chest is loose, and the pain is gone along with the bone deep despair I had before. The sun is setting, slowly sinking in a fiery ball of red that turns the sand an amazing pink color. I stand there, dumb with love, hearing the waves push against one another as they crash and fall, the white caps meet with crystal blue/green water as the land._

 _She walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land like she's walking on a tightwire at the circus. The sun inches lower and I feel moisture on my feet. Looking down I notice the absence of shoes, but I am wearing black dress pants, and as I bring my gaze slightly upward, I notice the rest of my suit is perfectly folded and pressed. She stops her walking to turn and look at me, a smile on her face as the wind whips her hair across it. She brings a hand up to brush away the curls, showing off her brand new gold band on her ring finger._

 _So this is our wedding day._

 _I look down at my hand, seeing the plain, gold band wrapping around my own fourth digit, perfectly fitting on my right hand._

" _Come on Jay!" She calls, a huge lauge emanating from her mouth, probably at my dumbfounded look. But that laugh. Dear lord, that laugh. It fixes me, it makes me whole again, it heals that shattered soul of mine. We are here. Together._

" _Are you seriously going to be late to your own wedding reception?!" A short distance behind her is expensive looking beach house, christmas lights brightening over a congregation of laughing people, dancing people, drinking and smiling people. I can see Jules in a dark blue dress, her hair, so blond it's nearly white, complimenting it perfectly. She's laughing at something, while across the bar Nadia is talking with a glass of water in her hand, not because she's afraid of alcohol but because she never liked the taste of it. She's smiling, a fantastic grin that makes Jin's face light up just as bright. In the back, I think I can see my mom._

" _Hey." Her soft hand is on my cheek, bringing my eyes to her glowing face. The hand falls and her eyes shine with the last of the fading sun._

" _Are you coming with me?" There's a few feet in front of me, a small gap that I hadn't noticed before, but now it's the only thing standing between us. I gaze at the party again. Where's Will? And Mouse? Shouldn't they be here too? And the rest of Intelligence, shouldn't they…_

 _No._

" _Halstead."_

" _Halstead look at me." I raise my eyes, ignoring the tears flowing down my face._

" _Erin- I didn't-I don't want-"_

" _Jay."_

 _My feet are sinking in the sand, and it's like the inches between us have become miles, but I can't move, I am stuck, slipping in the wet sand._

" _Erin-" I gasp, completely out of breath with panic._

" _It's okay. It'll be alright Jay." She's getting farther away, moving towards the party, and the sun's gone, only a few rays hitting the sky._

" _Linds-"_

 _She smiles, a happy, joyfully said smile._

" _I'll wait for you Jay. It's okay. I'll wait for you." No, no shes father, she's leaving me, shes gone, shes-_

"DAMN IT JAY, BREATHE!"

I think something like a scream rips its way out of my mouth, but I'm not quite sure how loud it really is. To me it shreds my dream like a cruel wind, tearing away the sounds of the ocean without a thought. I flail, still stuck, (or at least wanting to be) in the memory, desperate to reach Erin.

She was right there. She was right there, barely two feet in front of me. I touched her. She was real. And now she's gone

The loss snaps me back to reality, tossing me carelessly back into my dark apartment. I sob out her name, once, twice, three times, again and again until it I lose count. Somewhere along the way, it stops being a plea, I stop begging her to come back, not to leave me alone like this. Instead it evolves into an animalistic cry of mourning.

Because she's not coming back. Not now. Not ever.

"Shhhh, it's alright Jay. It's okay. I'm right here. It's okay. It's gonna be alright Jay, you're going to be alright…" I vaguely identify the person whose arms are wrapped around me, whose voice is whispering in my ear, but I don't care to acknowledge them, instead deciding to finally acknowledge something I should have over two weeks ago.

I told Erin once, that she was not the only person with something to lose. We were laying on my couch, watching some Tom Cruise movie, and I distinctly remember the fight we were having, that almost had both of us in tears. I had finally hit my end, when she made some comment about how careless I was sometimes. Like I was the only person in the relationship who had ever taken risks on the job. I yelled at her, she yelled back and the next thing I know we were both staring at each other, chests heaving with barely held emotion.

I told Erin once, that she was all I had left. I fell for her too hard and too fast, and told it to her face. If she left, without me, I wasn't going to be able to do... _anything_ anymore. I wouldn't be me, because she was best part of me that I had ever managed to have. I wouldn't be able to live, because the truth was, she was the reason I was happy. She gave me this amazing reason to smile and laugh and push on through this shit hole that was my life and without her…

I lost Erin once and now...I'm just barely surviving.

The sobs grow in intensity and magnitude, washing over me like waves on a beach. One fades just as another rolls in and sweeps up its remain, then pushes itself back onto me, never leaving enough time for me to breathe. It hurts so bad, a horrible throb that centers itself deep in my chest, in a place no medical professional has a name for. Every heartbeat pounds a new agony, a new misery, hammering it into my soul like a cruel medal of honor.

Is this what it feels like then? To die without being clinically dead? To feel every last shred of emotion you have and just feel it destroyed, excruciatingly slow?

Is this what she felt like, when she lost Nadia? Not like a hole was gone, but everything you ever felt you needed was just taken from you, as painful as every inch of skin being ripped off.

She wasn't supposed to be there. I wasn't supposed to be there. We weren't supposed to get this hurt, be this broken, after a simple undercover. It was just a simple buy and sell. Do it all the time when we want to grab up a bookie or corner boy. You don't...you're not supposed to die, doing something as simple as rookie work.

But it was _Derek Keyes_ and this was Intelligence and I fell in love with Erin Lindsay, so I think, by that point, I should have realized there was not going to be any happy ending.

Of course, Alvin would say it wasn't on me, that they were the ones who stayed in the cars, stayed way too far back when they should have at least been in the airport. That if they were just smarter, then I would have never been taken and she wouldn't have ever been in that situation.

It's ironic, really, because she wouldn't have been in that situation period if I had stopped Nadia from leaving that night, like I considered doing.

Ruzek would say that it was because they weren't fast enough. Dawson, maybe if he just had waited a second to think about the risks of taking a C.I.'s word. Atwater wouldn't even know what to say, but he would be left thinking he should have done something more.

And Voight?

I don't even know if Voight is still alive, never mind his position on his daughter's death.

Will would just tell me that Erin loved me more than anything, because if she didn't, she wouldn't have gone in, wouldn't have done what she did.

She wouldn't be dead, if she hadn't loved me.

 _Will._

Slowly, I reatune my ears to the present, consciously attempting to return to reality. My sobs have stopped, leaving my diaphragm tired and occasionally spasming. The tears are nearly dry now, and my face feels tight with their trails. I realize I've been staring at nothing for a while now, quietly hiccuping as my brother rubs circles on my back, probably scaring the crap out of him.

It's still very dark in my room. Odds are its near two in the morning and Will wasn't thinking about light switches when he ran in here. My throat feels rough, slightly grated with a twinge of pain when I swallow. No doubt I've been screaming.

I'm curled in a ball, but held by him, my ear landing right on his chest, so I can hear the steady _thump thump thump_ of his heart. It's beating fast.

"Jay?"

"Your heart rates elevated." I mumble into his shirt, to afraid to move and not wanting to anyway.

There's a pause.

"...do you want to lay down?" My back aches in sharp protest. I nod. He shuffles for a moment, then I'm being moved, off of his lap and onto some soft material that's gotta be my bed. He forces me to uncurl slightly, making me stretch my smarting muscles, if only a tiny bit. I lay, half in reality, half out, wondering if maybe this is all one big dream, and I can just wake up and go home tomorrow.

Will return from wherever he went (I didn't notice he left) with something in his hand. He makes me sit up, the smallest amount necessary, and tips something cool and smooth to my lips. I cough and sputter, but eventually my aching throat accepts the water. He moves away again, maybe to go put the glass in the kitchen, but he's going to leave and I can't-

My hand latches onto his wrist, quicker than I've moved in a long time. He stares at me a second, eyes wide with worry and surprise and maybe...maybe a little fear.

I wonder if I hit him once or twice when I woke up.

Of course it's now I notice how he's still in his sleepwear, dark fatigued circles hanging under his eyes. I consider smirking at the wardrobe, his baggy Daffy Duck sweats looking especially weird with _my_ Clark t-shirt. Then the outfit snaps at me, the shirt triggering an image of Erin, laughing as she raids my closet.

My hands quickly finds its way back under the covers.

He sets the glass on the small nightstand near him, then wordlessly climbs into the bed. I tense, afraid of nothing rational, then relax into his side, his arm around my shoulders while press my face into his shoulder. Just like when we were kids, and the thunder outside was more scary than cool or I just didn't want to sleep alone on my side of the bed.

I have never been more thankful to have him as my brother than this moment right here. It's possible that sometime later in life, I'll find another, better memory. Maybe. Probably not.

He didn't ask me if I was okay. He didn't ask me talk, or tell me I needed to. Even though he is dead terrified for me right now, he won't show it, because I need someone without the pity party right now. I need someone caring and patient and warm and _alive_.

He didn't ask, didn't go back to his own room to give me space I don't need.

He's just there right now, and even though I have no love left to give right now, I have never been more grateful.

I have never been more scared, either.

Who knows? Maybe if things had been different and we had all made it out of that day, it would have worked. I would have been on medical leave for a little while, then go back to work just fine, no debilitating PTSD. Erin would have worked with Dr. Charles to get better, we would have gotten ourselves back, then found each other too.

Maybe Voight would have given his blessing. I'd get to hold the girl I love in public, and let everyone know she was mine. We'd have fights over my apartment, then somehow we'd end up living together in a brand new one.

Maybe...maybe I'd have worked up the courage to give her a ring.

The engagement surprise would have been ruined by Mouse, on accident on course, and then I'd have to deal with an extremely pissed of Voight. But everyone would have been happy for us and the engagement party would be beyond wild, just as the wedding planning would be beyond stressful.

I suppose one of us would end up getting hurt anyway, probably the day before the wedding or something, because that's just our luck. But we'd have the minister come to the hospital, and everyone would get all dressed up in formal suits and dresses, and head to the roof, and while we wanted a chapel we would get the roof of Chicago Med, and we wouldn't have it any other way.

Later, when we were healthy again, I'd plan a party, a beautiful, three week late reception for Erin because I know how much she loves to dance.

I think I'd have it on a beach. One with a setting sun and pink sands and where shoes were required not to be worn. Erin would wear white, not because she was innocent or pure. But because she was perfect.

Perhaps I asked too much of fate, to think I could love her freely and forever.

* * *

 **Hmpf. Not even close to what i wanted but its something, I suppose.**

 **Review?**


	7. Come A Little Closer

**Well, here's the ever elusive three chapter opener to answer the question I am sure many of you have been wondering: Where the fuck is Voight?**

 **Truth? I have no idea how to write Voight, because we know so little about him still, and because he is such a complex character...not going to lie, that chapter is going to be rough.**

 **Just like this one.**

 ***sighs***

 **Oh well. Hope you guys at least somewhat enjoy this.**

* * *

 **Alvin's P.O.V.**

"How would you describe it then?!"

"Terrifying! Awful! Nightmare fuel! Almost anything but 'concerning'!"

"I was just trying to-" She stops for a second, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, composing herself. I have not had that kind of self control lately, and my anger stays right where it is-boiling beneath my skin, ready to explode.

"Why." Comes the quiet command, a statement taking the place of a question. It's a word that demands an answer, yet leaves no room for deliberation of its meaning. I know what she's asking, even as she refuses to ask it. Leaving me and my anger, to refuse to answer it.

"Why is he so important to you?" Hey, there's an interrogative statement. Sadly, I am in no mood to be here, nor am I in a mood to play her stupid games.

"Why is he so important to _you?!"_ I snarl back, completely done with this lady. Her gaze narrows, and I can see the animosity boil up again in her eyes.

"This isn't about me." She grinds out through gritted teeth.

"Clearly, it is. Why are you trying so hard? Why do you even give a shit about him? Or any of us for that matter?! You don't know anything about us! You barely even know our names!" A flinch is what I receive for my words. Good. She should know what it's like.

"You care."

"Excuse me?"

"You care." As she repeats them the words are louder, harsher. She almost looks close to crying. Suddenly she raises her eyes back to mine.

"You care more deeply, more whole heartedly, then any team, any cop, I have ever had the pleasure of coming into contact with. You care, but none of you wanted to, because years of experience told you that to care for someone, is how you get hurt. You saw him and you hated him for five minutes until you realized who this kid was. And it _pissed you off_ that the tough cops of the city could be so protective of someone."

She stops for a moment, looking angry at the world.

"So tell me _detective_ -why is he so important to you? What makes him so much higher than everyone else? Is it because you think he is weak? Fragile? Like he needs protecting?"

"No." I grind out, hands balling into fists. It's been very hard lately to find that steadiness I've been known for. Normally it takes a lot for me to lose it, to really show my similarities to Voight. Nowadays, the slightest implications make me want to kill someone.

"Really? Because normally a tough old cop like you has a soft spot for a younger one, a more naive cop, you know, like your protégée. Except the kid you're training doesn't really fit that bill does he. Are you jealous of him? Is that why you're so angry?!"

I am really considering getting up and walking out of the office, because if I am really close to doing something that might get me arrested.

"Or is it because he's just like you?"

"You better watch what you say next-"

"Or what?!" She snarls, not intimidated by my tone.

"You gonna shoot me and have Voight help you bury the body? Here's a new flash-Hanks about as much help as a dead cat right now, and that's if you could find him. See, that anger you're feeling? It's not because of me. You were angry long before you came here and trust me, all I did was the bring the reason for your anger to the forefront."

"You're hating yourself right now. That anger is what you want to feel. It's what you've convinced everyone including yourself that it's how you're coping. But the truth is, you're _not_ angry...not in the slightest. How could you be angry at the person the person you care so much for?"

I can't look at her anymore. I can't. I've been to shrink after shrink, with all my years in the department, and every time they've helped, but every time they've been different. They knew nothing about me, and frankly they didn't really care. We were both just there because it was mandatory for a paycheck.

This girl on the other hand, knows everything. She doesn't just think she does, no, I found out quickly in the first session that she does actually know everything about me. About everyone really. I'd like to say she picked to the wrong profession, because she could've been the country's top profiler. She's kind of a rough therapist.

She's always right though. And right now she's hitting the nail on the head.

"Alvin." Her voice is softer now, caring but not judging. Something I tried to be for him. Look where that got us.

"I know you don't know how to feel right now. And I know you're scared but you don't know why. I understand that. Jay was everything you were when you were younger, except maybe he was a little more damaged. You wanted to be there for him because despite what he showed everyone else, you knew he was hurt. You knew he was struggling long before Nadia was even in the unit. You saw the same bruises on his soul that ringed yours. And you knew they weren't going to fade. But you hoped, that maybe you could help him deal with them."

"No."

"No?"

"No, he was already dealing with them. I just let him know that if he ever got tired of fighting his demons, or if he ever got lost in the process, I'd be there. At least, that's what I tried to do." It's easier to meet her eyes, now that it doesn't feel like I'm getting told off by someone twenty years younger than me.

That was a big thing when we first started. It was kind of weird, the veteran cop getting forced to sit down in the same room as a veteran psychoanalyst, with over a two decade age gap in between. It's gotten better, especially after I figured out that there's a lot more to this girl then her sarcastic remarks. She's seen some shit, and it was enough to give her a 'no bullshit' attitude. You can tell with some people. It's like a secret little club, all of us who are damaged. You can tell, just by the things people say, by the way people look at the world.

She looks at us differently than anyone else. I suppose that would be why we got 'assigned' to her. Or perhaps, more like why she asked for us.

"He knew."

"Excuse me?"

"He knew that you were there. And if you were to have left he would've become even more unstable. He just didn't...I don't know. He never saw you as an outlet more as...a protector. Someone who was looking out for him maybe."

I scrub a hand across my face, sighing in tiredness.

"Yeah well. Whatever he thought of me I didn't really do that good of a job of."

"You think you didn't protect him?"

"He was kidnapped and tortured for two days under our watch, and Erin and Nadia were murdered because we couldn't get to them in time. We do a better job protecting criminals instead of our own." My voice is laced with undisguised malice, although not aimed towards her. She takes it in stride, barely blinking before continuing her barrage of hard pressing questions, face just as impassive as the day I met her.

"I wasn't asking if Intelligence protected him. I was asking _you_ did."

"No! Is this what you wanted to hear? _No_ , I didn't watch out for him and _No_ I didn't protect him like I should have, but damn it the kid didn't exactly make it easy for people to care about him!" She pauses for a second, and a million emotions flash across her face, too quick for me to catch anything other than a daring excitement.

"So you blame him for this?!"

"Of course not! This was just how he grew up, it's...it was how he learned to cope with things and I understand the thought process but I figured after he saw where that got Erin, he wouldn't…." I take a deep breath, feeling my age more than ever.

"I just wanted him to let someone in. It didn't need to be me, although I would have liked it to be. I was watching him fall lower and lower and I thought that if I tried to force him into anything he would fall even faster. Its why I never suggested him take time off. I knew losing the badge would be that last straw."

My eyes find her face, searching for some form of animosity or defensiveness at the mention of her decision. I know a lot of people in intelligence held some form of anger towards her decision to take Jay off the force. Even though she made it clear it could be indefinitely, I never found a real problem with it. Probably because it was something that needed to be done.

I just couldn't do it myself.

Her eyes narrow, mouth opening to speak, but I cut her off before she finds the words to defend herself.

"It wasn't. I know that. When he was shot, it became pretty clear he couldn't hold the badge anymore. It was too dangerous, for us and for him." She raises her chin, eyes still uncertain.

"You're talking about the Gilmore case, correct?"

"Yes."

"Right…" She pauses, looking at me thoughtfully. I can almost see her trying to put the puzzle pieces together in her head. Her eyebrows scrunch as she fails at her task.

"And this convinced you...how exactly?"

"He, uh...wasn't as aware of his surroundings as he needed to be." She shrugs.

"Everyone gets distracted sometimes. Besides he didn't as for the guy to shoot at him."

"No. At least, not verbally."

"What?"

"Lady, these are chicago criminals we're talking about. If they don't shoot at us, then they are running from us. There is no such thing as being 'distracted' on the job."

"But the man could have surprised him."

"...maybe."

"So how did you know it was his fault?" I clear my throat, trying and failing horribly to hide my discomfort at her question.

"I saw it happen."

" _Halstead, get down!" I duck behind a pillar, immediately assuming he'll react to my command._

 _He doesn't._

 _He doesn't even blink. In that split second he had to get himself to safety, that split second of warning that I gave him to save his life, he doesn't move. He just stays stock still, swaying slightly like in a trance._

 _The man's semi-auto fires. Time seems to slow down as I watch Jay get hit. His body twists with each impact, as there must be more than one for him to move like that. His head snaps back, then suddenly his shoulder takes over the backwards momentum and yanks his body to the side where he gets it with one more, smack in the center of the chest. It sends him flying, a loud smack echoing as his gear and body meet the ground at different times._

 _He doesn't move._

"But you did much more than that didn't you?"

"I don't-"

"You brought him back. That's no easy task, you know." It pains me to know that she's speaking from experience.

" _And_ you brought him back after being shot, rather quickly mind you. Care to explain how?"

" _Dawson! Halstead's down!" I hear the other man's voice over the radio, requesting back up and an ambulance._

" _Cover me!" Ruzek complies, rising slightly and firing shot after shot as I run. I manage to slide to my knees next to him, ignoring the twinge of pain that comes from them as I flip a table for cover. A few bullets imbed themselves into the metal, but none get through, and we are well hidden behind it._

 _The gunfire shifts, and I hear Adam call out._

" _Al, Dawson needs helps!"_

" _Go, I got him!" There's the sound of running feet, then the open room becomes quiet, save for my panting and another, harsher wheezing sound that accounts for Jay breathing. Pushing my way over to him, I can see I was right about the location of the bullets. Two slugs sit in his vest, one on the shoulder, where he's lucky it hit the small patch of kevlar instead of his collarbone that was less than a centimeter to the right. The other bullets sits where his sternum is, and instantly I know this is going to be trouble._

 _Jay's been having panic attacks. I don't know if everyone has figured it out yet, but if they have, they don't know how bad they really are. I only know because Mouse told me, because he trusted me and knew he couldn't always be there. We still don't quite know what triggers them, but I know when ever he feels corned, whenever things get too chaotic and messy, he gets this look in his eye. And if his breathing varies in anyway, he shuts down._

 _And right now, given his current predicament, breathing is going to be a very hard task for him._

 _My focus moves to his head, where his wide, dilated pupils stare at nothing, and recognize nothing. His lips are starting to turn blue with lack of oxygen, so while I talk to him, telling him he's safe, my hands rip open his vest, tearing off the straps to loosen the oppressive material._

 _A tiny cry brings my attention back up to his face, where his eyes have clouded with fear and confusion, and where I can see the perfectly made gash running into his hairline. Terror spikes though me, terror of losing another team mate so soon after Erin. Terror of him letting go right after we pulled him back. Terror of losing him in general._

 _My fingers follow the gash, and I find it disappears before reaching the back of his head. With a sigh I realize the bullet never actually entered his skull, although it came so close to doing so._

" _Jay." I whisper, cupping his face with my hands. Still no comprehension in his eyes. Just strangled gasps that are too small and take too much effort to complete._

" _Look at me kid, please. C'mon Jay. I'm right here. I've got you kid, you're safe. I'm not going anywhere." His green/blue eyes flutter for a second, recognition flashing briefly before disappearing back underneath a wave of memories. He gasps at the same time, taking a semi normal breath and then reverting back to barely breathing at all._

" _Listen to me Jay, you aren't there anymore. You hearin' me Jay, whatever you're seeing you aren't there, it's not happening again. I need you to focus Halstead, I need you concentrate on me." Another half breath. Another flicker of himself._

" _That's it. That's it Jay, come on. See me, right here, right now." He's fighting, he is, but it's not fast enough, he's going to lose consciousness if he doesn't start inhaling air_ _ **right now.**_

 _My hands hits his cheek hard enough to bruise, the sharp crack surprising me._

 _Footsteps pound behind me as Jay inhales, gulping air like someone tried to drown him. An articulate moan floats from him as I frantically yell at him, ordering him to respond and let me know he isn't still lost._

 _Dawson kneels next to me as Jay finally return to reality._

" _Al-" He gasps, still struggling for air but making more progress on that front than before._

" _I'm right here Jay. You're okay. You're safe." Antonio sends me a confused look, but doesn't say anything, instead helping Jay sit up, resting his back against the concrete pillar slightly behind him. Jay's eyes stare at me the whole time, fear and confusion still lingering in them as well as embarrassment. No thanks or gratefulness. No, he is too ashamed about what just happened to thank me for pulling him out of whatever hell hole he was swimming in. He's too lost._

 _That look still rests in his eyes, less obvious now, guarded by walls erected a long time ago. Walls that are failing, because I can almost see through them, and he knows it._

 _He has been falling and I have been watching. The only difference is now I can see how close he is to the bottom._

 _I don't want to know what happens when he reaches it._

"That's when I knew he needed help."

She nods, her face carefully neutral, just as it had been the last ten minutes as I recounted my experience.

"You slapped him?"

I shrug.

"Desperate times…" Her eyes narrow, that speculative look back on her face..

"But he recognized you. When you were talking, you said that brought him back."

"Only for a second...I...Maybe I imagined it-"

"No." She isn't looking at me, eyes still focused on piece of wall she isn't really seeing, her mind going a million miles an hour if her expression is anything to go by.

"Excuse me?"

"No, you read Jay even better than Antonio does. He _saw_ you. In the middle of a flashback you pulled him out of it, even if for a second." Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and dread fills me at the sight. She better not be thinking what I-

"But he was embarrassed afterwards right, like he didn't want you to see that part of him?"

"If you want to interpret it that way…" She stares at me in awe.

"It's you."

"What?"

"You're the missing piece. It's you."

"Look, I don't-"

"Do you understand what you did? That was one less than a week before we had our first session, where he was at his absolute lowest. After we started meeting, he never went backwards. Every session we got further, he improved more." She leans forward.

"You got through to him, in the literal worst time of his life, during one of the thinnest points of his sanity. You brought him back then. You can do it now."

Yep. She was thinking what I thought she was thinking. Except instead of protesting, I just sit there silently, like a rookie getting reprimanded, trying to figure out an excuse.

"It fits so perfectly. You're the one he talks about. _Wow_." She leans back into her chair, smirking as something finally clicks.

"He...what?!" Her hands lift from where they were folded on her notebook, spreading in a placating manner.

"Not verbally. But sometimes I'd mention something, or someone, and he would stop for a second, quiet, before saying a two word answer. Then he'd be subdued the rest of the time, until we hit a different subject that made him focus on something else. I couldn't find a relationship between the subjects, and he always had this look in his eyes when it happened, like he was caught up thinking of something. Now, I see it's a some _one."_

"Okay, hold on a second. I haven't seen Jay in weeks-"

"Yeah, and who's fault is that? His? Mine? I can't make you do anything you don't already want to Mr. Olinski."

Somehow, I doubt that.

"I tell you what. You have two options. Either you reach out to Jay-" I inhale sharply, ready to protest for real this time, but she raises her hand, shooting me a warning look, like a mother scolding a child.

" _Or…_ you can reach out to Hank Voight. Your choice."

"Is it?" I ask, subtly calling her out. She smirks, but seems unafraid to admit it.

"Yes, I'd prefer you talk to Jay first. He needs you."

"He needs Will. And Mouse." _And Erin._

"Not me."

"Why? Because you think you are more screwed up than him right now, and that by being near him you will somehow expel this evil energy and make him lose all the progress he's made? Here's a news flash for you honey-that's not how this works." I sigh. Her sass never ceases to disappoint.

"You being near him will not hurt him. It will help him heal. It will help _both_ of you heal. He needs to get used to seeing the member of intelligence again and you need to get used to the idea that he is not the fragmented version Jay Halstead you remember. He isn't going to shatter into a million pieces just because you are around."

My hand scrubs my face again, a thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of my nose in the hopes it will alleviate tension growing in temples.

"I don't know how to help him. I wouldn't even begin to know what to say, how to act, what I can bring up, what I can't-" My protests are cut short, by a voice that lets me know she already made up her mind and I'm doing this, whether I like it or not.

"Al, you don't need to. Just being there is going to motivate him to keep trying."

"But what if-"

"Are you going to judge him?"

"No."

"Are you going to hurt him?"

" _No."_

"Are you going to think less of him because of what happened and how he reacted?" I jerk forward in my seat, angered by her audacity.

"Of course not! Why the hell would I?" She clicks her pen, uncrosses her legs, and writes something down on a little note pad from her desk.

"You sir, just heard his biggest fears...and responded correctly to all of them." She doesn't look while she writes, just speaks then tears off the piece of paper, holding it out to me. On it is an address with business hours, followed by two phone numbers, a pair of initials next to each.

"That's neutral ground for him and you. First number is mine, second it Jays. I want you to text me when you finally get the balls to ask him to meet you, and then text me again if you both show up. I don't need details, just let me know its happening, so I can be prepared for any fall out." I suck in a breath, staring at the piece of simple note paper.

"I thought you said he wouldn't go backwards." She rolls her eyes.

"No, but he'll call me freaking out like a teenage girl who got asked by her crush to go to prom. I'd rather that call not come in during a session with another patient. I think you can understand where I'm coming from on that one." I grimaced, thinking of a phone call like that coming in during a briefing.

"Yeah. I got it." She leans forward and shakes my hand, the traditional end to our meetings.

"Don't forget your homework Olinski."

"Never." I scoff, snatching the piece of paper from my pocket and waving it around dramatically. As I stand and reach the door I hear her last parting remark, making me smile ruefully.

"You better not. At this point Jay is closer to getting his badge back then and Antonio combined."

Jackass.

* * *

 **So I'm posting this against my better judgement in the middle of finals week, so my brain is fried (hence any grammer errors) but Its something right? Now you know all why Jay officially got his badge taken away...you just have no idea why Al got his taken away, or Antonio and Voight's AWOL...until next chapter. *grins evilly* its all starting to come together now. MY CREATION IS COMING TO LIFE AHAHAHAAAA**

 ***shoves mr. hyde back in the closet.* sorry bout that. Get out your tissue boxes ladies and gents because up next... _the funeral._**

 **Review please!**


	8. STAY

**Welp, time to confuse all y'all. We have this chapter, then the next one, I actually jump** _ **backwards**_ **in time so bear with me, but we find out what's going on with Hank next chapter and shit could get interesting.**

 **So here's hoping, because I'm afraid these next few will be horrible and gross and just-ugh.**

 ***May need a tissue for this chapter***

* * *

 **Jay's P.O.V.**

She tilts her head back, eyes searching for something with a small smirk on her face.

"Okay Jay." I groan at her smug tone.

"Noooo….what am I doing noooooowwww…."

"Well...I have to talk to Will later today, only for a little after he gets off his shift, but I thought you'd like to know that based on your last couple of sessions, I may be considering giving you some freedom back."

"Wait-really? Like for real this time?!" She grins, dropping her head to hide her smile.

"Assuming you keep going the way you're going, yes, I may just tell Will that he can go home to his own apartment now."

"As if he'd ever leave…" I mutter.

"But you have to tell me something first."

"What's that." She leans back in her chair, face softening with concern. I swallow, uncomfortable with the sudden change of atmosphere in the room.

"I want you...to tell me about _her."_

"A-about...um…"

"Tell me about Erin." A pit seems to open up in my stomach, sucking all good feeling into it and turning it to dread.

"Wha-, uh, what do you want to know?" I stammer, feeling suddenly nauseous.

"Well, let's start with the easier stuff." I swallow.

"Tell me about the funeral."

...

 _It was raining. Of course it was raining. If this were a movie I'd comment something on the use (overuse) of dramatic irony, to which Erin would reply how it was supposed to add to the story, and for me to shut up and just watch because if I was going to play peanut gallery she could just as easily watch this movie at her apartment._

 _She wouldn't leave though. I'd know because she would be curled into my side, head on my shoulder with a blanket draped over her, to comfortable to move. She would always tease me, because despite her being the lightweight when it came to alcohol, I would alway fall asleep during late night flicks, and she'd be the one dragging me into bed so I didn't wake up crippled the next day. My couch is comfy, but it's by no means a bed. Although I'd gladly take it over this any day._

 _A soft huff of air passes through my lips involuntarily. It's the only noise I've made all morning, and of course Dawson catches it. Without a reaction beyond a sharp glance at me, he stands, then quietly walks over towards me, kneeling to tie my shoes. I'd open my mouth to protest, but talking has seemed to so hard lately._

 _The house is quiet, soft grey light filling the spaces as thunder rumbles outside the window. Alvin's in the kitchen with Voight, a quiet but intense conversation going on between them. Quiet. So much has changed but it seems like the silence is the most dramatic revision made to my life in the last week. It's as if when she died the world realized it lost something special and unique, and decided to hush its noise so everyone could mourn._

 _Everything has been lowered. No one laughs, but no one cries either. There's no yelling, although I suspect that will come later. No heavy steps, but heavy hearts instead, and weary shoulders that seemed to have taken on the weight of the sky but are only now realizing how heavy it is. Everyone tiptoes around, talks in soft, reserved voices. Maybe it's because no one really knows how to move._

 _It's as if we were standing on solid ground, and then suddenly we're in space. No one knows what to do, what to feel. No one knows what to say to each other, because this was never a scenario that could have been plausible. Two weeks ago we were worried about Erin, we didn't expect to be going to her funeral in the same month._

 _I know normally, they'd be worried about me. I mean, I am too, actually. I know that my verbal inadequacy is a sign of things much worse, and I understand that I'm not processing everything the way I should be but neither is anyone else, so honestly, I don't care._

 _Erin is gone. My Erin Lindsay, my beautiful, strong, Erin Lindsay, is gone. Because of me._

 _Or maybe not. I haven't been able to figure that part out yet. Which is wrong. I put her in that position, I was the one who couldn't defend himself and got taken. I was the one who made the rookie mistake to go with the unplanned move._

 _I was the one who was too caught up in a hectic case to pay attention to social life, or even notice the fact that others might too. I got Nadia killed, with more blame than Erin could have ever put on herself._

 _But then it's like I can hear her. See her smirking face, annoyance playing on it, as she yells at me for even thinking such things. If I close my eyes I can almost see her sitting across from me in the bullpen, telling me it was her choice to go in, and that she knew what she was doing._

" _Oh what? You saying that I couldn't handle it?! Jay it didn't matter if it was me or Burgess or any female. Hell it could've been any of the guys. A six inch knife to the chest is gonna end the same way, just like that plan would've ended the same way, it was doomed to begin with. Stop your whining, it could have been any of us, and it would've ended the same way."_

 _I actually get close to a smile at the thought. It's true though. And it feels like by blaming myself, by saying it's my fault she's dead, or at least, saying I pulled her into that, is betraying her. Erin made her own choices, and no guy, certainly not me, would ever change that. She made that clear._

 _Someone taps my shoulder. I look up at the face of Alvin, whose lips move, forming words I do not hear but can understand the meaning of. I stand, rather sorely, my abdomen aching with a vengeance. It barely let me bend over to put my shoes on, which I did sitting on Voight's couch. I didn't take a pill this morning because they make my head fuzzy, and I want to remember today with absolute clarity, because I can't seem to remember much else._

 _There's a hand on my arm as a bout of dizziness overtakes me, my concussion making itself known as it destroys my balance. Once again it's Olinski who stops my swaying, a look of pure concern on his face. Huh. Maybe they have noticed more than I thought._

 _I'm currently trying to hid it, all the physical pain, because I promised Will I'd willingly take my pain meds for the next week if he let me go. He was close to refusing, which would have had to involve tying me down and sedating me. Kept saying things about exhaustion and delayed trauma, and that I was pushing myself to hard._

" _You keep doing this and something's gonna break Jay! You just got out of the hospital three days ago, you can barely stay awake for longer than four hours you're so exhausted and you want to go stand up for twelve?! Are you insane?!"_

" _Will. Its_ _ **Erin.**_ "

 _That had shut him up. He face crumpled as he looked at mine, and I knew I had put him in that impossible spot. To not let me go, would be to deny me one last look at her, one last chance to say everything. One last chance. Just to see if it was all real._

 _We had ridden in a silent car, early this morning because of his shift. He didn't talk, just hovered next to me till I got up the steps. Alvin was already there. He took my uniform from my brother, said thank you, then became my caretaker for the day. Dawson arrived shortly after, followed by Ruzek and Atwater, who were already dressed. Now, I am too._

 _It's time. Al stays next to me as we file out of the house. No one walks particularly fast, so I am able to hide my increasing soreness with slower steps._

 _Still, even here in the drenching rain fall, the world is quiet. The rain and thunder melds into a soft orchestra of comfort, and I allow my body to relax more on the ride to the cemetery._

 _Everyone's come. Casey and Severide, Chief Boden, Platt, the commanders, both police and fire. The rest of Fifty One, along with patrolmen and women from the precinct. I notice a few of her braver CI's, hidden in dark hoodies in the back of the crowd. People from Chicago Med who weren't on shift, and even a few who are, but managed to get the go ahead from their bosses. More will come, when the ground is covered again, but the people have gone. They will say their words to just her, because only she can hear them._

 _Everyone's come, one last time, to see a hero laid in the ground._

 _Nobody speaks, the quiet rain still the only noise. No one needs to. No words make this better, no music to make it sadder. Just a sea of umbrellas, uniforms, and hard faces. All crowded around a man in white, who murmurs a prayer under his breath while shaking an instrument over her lowering casket._

 _Voight is passed the shovel first, a handful of dirt, falling gracelessly into the hole. Without hesitation he hands the tool to me. I'm freezing cold, chilled to the bone, while simultaneously completely numb. A small chunk of dirt follows the first, then the burial tool is handed to Alvin, to Antonio, Ruzek and soon there's a line forming, following Voight and I who walk, completely drenched, but lone in company._

 _We lead, walking out of the cemetery, back towards cars that are not to be driven to a restaurant or venue. They will take us home, or to a friends home, where the grieving will be solitary in the presence of nothing._

 _It is a desolate, cold place where I am. Family and friends are supposed to gather after a death, for laughter and smiles, to remember someone as they lived, and to celebrate their life. Trapped in one's head is no way to grieve for the love of your life._

 _Alvin drives. Bringing me back to my apartment. He told Will he'd stay. He is worried, but seems angry too, just not at me. I feel the uneasiness rolling off him, just as I feel every scared glance in my direction. He is terrified of losing me too. I cannot blame him. But his concern stems because he thinks this will break me._

 _It won't. I know that. It may destroy me, take part of my soul perhaps, but never break me. Erin wouldn't want me to shatter, not over her, so I will not. She knew, even as she spiraled, that it was something she never wanted for me. I know, because she told me one night, as I yelled at her, pleaded with her, begged her not to give everything up._

 _She just told me she couldn't do it again. She wouldn't do it again. No more grieving for people she loved, she said. I heard the message loud and clear. She would be the next to die, not anyone else._

 _Well you got your wish Erin. You just never quite realized how much destruction you'd leave in your wake. I may refuse to break. But that doesn't mean I'm still alive._

 _I loved you Erin._

 _I loved you and it wasn't enough._

 _My head falls against the cold glass window, eyes closed against the greyness of it all._

 _Why am I never good enough?_

…

The caring look on her face is more than I can stand, and the urge to say something cruel almost overwhelms me. She notices and her face is a blank mask once more, voice a perfect match containing zero emotion. It's better this way, because then it's easier to think I'm just talking to myself, and that no one else is ever going to hear these words.

"You said...you should've been blaming yourself, but you weren't. Or rather, you hadn't figured it out yet. How is that?"

"I...I don't know. I should blame myself, it was...everything you look at, every report and accounting, can clearly put the blame on me."

"But you don't feel blame do you."

"...No."

"Why?'

"Because...I-...I don't know. I just...everything that's gotten to me, everything I've felt, has never been because of that guilt. I know what regret feels like when it's over something that got someone killed, it's what used to keep me up at night. But...What I felt...what I _feel_... was always because she wasn't there. Because I missed her so much and I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that she was gone. And that she left while I came back."

"While you came back." She murmurs, staring at me, head tilted to the side, scrutinizing me.

"You're talking about when you found out she was dead, correct." I nod.

"When you woke up, who told you?"

"Nobody." Her head pops up suddenly, and I see she's found what she's fishing for.

"Because you already knew." I swallow, the sound audible.

"You believe in the afterlife Jay?"

"I believe in something."

"It must've been hard then. Knowing you were both right there, but she went, instead of you." The comment hits much too close to reality for me to not react, though I try my hardest to hide my surprise.

"Or was it that she left you behind."

"She didn't do anything wrong!" The words burst out of my mouth, destroying any semblance of control I had. My breathing speeds up as I drag a hand down my face.

" _Damn it."_ I whisper, pressing two fingers to the bridge of my nose.

"Okay, okay. Just breath Jay." She ducks her head slightly, trying to get my attention.

"Halstead?"

"I'm okay. I'm alright." Her eyes soften, but her face remains impassive.

"All right. So she didn't leave you...just...she went and you didn't. No blame. Just a fact." I'm able to calm down slightly, slowing my chest while relaxing slightly in the chair.

"That didn't make it hurt less."

"No I imagine not. You still woke up knowing your love died down the hall from you _at the same time_ as your own cardiac failure. It that doesn't make you feel something nothing would." Her voice gets softer as she talks, and know something's coming, but I'm so caught up in the memories, the sobs and screams I let out as I realized Erin was dead.

" _Jay! Oh my god-" My body aches, a throbbing fire of agony that does not excuse my head just for Will's loud voice._

' _Will-" A cough and gasp meld into one, resulting in a harsh wheeze that brings in no air._

" _Where...Erin?" There are other people, but I need to see her, to know it wasn't real. She has to be here, she just does, that couldn't have meant what I know it did._

" _Jay...Erin's...we couldn't…" His face is fear, relief and terror wrapped in one. He's gripping one hand; Manning is there pressing for a pulse on the other's wrist while nurses scuttle around talking nonsense._

" _No, no, Will, I just saw her, she's okay, she, we were talking, shes okay, just tell me she's, tell me she's alright…" I trail off. Someone pushes an oxygen mask over my face, telling me quietly to breath._

" _Jay...Erin's dead."_

" _But...I saw her, I swear to god, we were-" The realization hits me as I realize_ _ **who**_ _I saw her with._

 _She's just..._

" _Oh god." I choke, a sob wracking my chest with the words. Will is telling me its going to be okay, and he looks like he's about to cry, but I can't hear his words, I can't hear anything over my own agony. It's all to loud, but I know when I start screaming, sobbing, crying her name over and over, wanting her back, knowing she's not coming, because I lost her I lost her I lost her-_

" _Put him under damn it, before he codes again!" To many voices, I can't hear my own, I_ _ **can't find her-**_

" _I'm so sorry Jay."_

 _..._

"You said...you know that kind of regret." I blink, rubbing an eye. I want to get out of here. Go home. Go for a run. Maybe hit something. Anything to relive the shaky energy that's swirling inside my core. I must have changed slightly is that's my first thought. A month ago, hell, a year ago, the emotions would have probably led to a panic attack or worse. Some part of me still longs to just drink myself into oblivion.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Earlier. You said you know _that kind_ of regret. The guilt that comes with thinking someone's death was your fault." My throat closes with a different kind of pain, a hurt that I haven't thought of in while.

"I was a strategical tactical specialist in the army. That meant I mapped out entry plans, extractions, hell, I planned entire missions sometimes. Adapting things to topography, finding defensive strongholds and forming offensive plans...I know what it feels like when something goes wrong, something you should have expected, should have seen. I understand what it feels like to get people killed."

"But...you don't feel that way about Erin."

"No."

"No? Are you sure? Because you just told me you knew what it felt like when something you should have expected to go wrong, does. Which is a perfect fit to how that case went down."

"No-Well, yes, but-"

"But what? It's the same thing isn't it? Shouldn't you feel the same guilt?" Anger surges in my gut. It's like she's telling me I should feel the same for Erin as I should for my guys over seas. Erin I loved. Those guys, I knew. It doesn't make me feel the pain any less, I fought with them, but it's still different.

"I didn't order Erin into Keyes' mansion!" My voice is louder than expected, but I make no effort to lower it. "It wasn't my plan that sent her in there, but it was my decisions that killed those men!"

It suddenly dawns on me, the implications of what I just said hitting me like a ton of bricks to the stomach. I suddenly feel light headed and heavy at the same time. She smiles.

"Do you remember when we first met? I asked you to tell me about Erin Lindsay. Do you remember what you said?" I manage a light smile, feeling lost and airy, like I could float away at any moment.

"Jay?"

"I said...I said she was beautiful."

"Oh, not just beautiful. This girl _lit up_ your world. She had this _incredible_ smile to go along with the sassiest attitude and most _amazing_ personality. Don't you remember Halstead? You told me how unbelievably perfect she was, what with her scarred heart that is stronger than yours and a past that was worse than yours."

There's a pause. I can't seem to think.

"You know what else you told me?" My eyes close on their own accord, memory of her grinning face as she laughs playing behind them.

"You told me that Erin Lindsay does not do anything she doesn't want to. Because she is too _smart_ and too _strong_ to allow anyone dictate her life." _She sounds just like her._

"Jay. Look at me."

I open my eyes, a single tear suddenly escaping and rapidly trailing down my cheek as I gasp.

"You didn't do anything wrong." I nod, only just managing the motion. Words seem impossible right now.

"You loved her, and you lost her, but that was no one's fault. It doesn't mean you are any less worthy of being love, because if that amazing woman you described to me was real, then she saw something in you that _deserved_ to be loved. Just as you saw her as someone who deserved to be cherished and cared for and seen as astonishing. You lost her. But will you ever stop loving her?"

"Never." I choke out.

"And she knew that. Which is why she choose to go in for you. She choose to save you, Jay, because she felt the same way about you. And she knew you were just as strong as her. In fact, I bet she saw you as stronger.

"She saved you, because she knew you would do the same for her. It wasn't a one way street. She loved you Jay, loved you more than herself, because you helped her find who she was. You never _needed_ Erin. Not until you met her. "

"What are you saying." I whisper, to emotionally charged, to _confused_ to do much more. My hands are shaking, I want to sob and laugh and smile all at the same time, but it feels so good, (so fucking different from the black hole of misery I've been in for a while now) to know this is where I am, and that maybe, just maybe, I can do this, because she'd want to me to. And because she'd be _proud._

"I'm saying...love her… and _live_ while doing it."

"Be who you are now Jay, because _that_ is who _she_ loves. "

* * *

 **So yeah. Theres, uh, _that._ Hope you liked, and drop me a review! I want to hear what you guys think! **


	9. Shake It Out

**Soooo this is shit and I can't fix it, because every time I've tried, it just becomes worse. I had delusions in July about updating monthly and HA look how that turned out. Senior year is rough guys.**

 **Unfortunately, this probably won't be updated again until I've finished my college essay, for which deadline is october 20th. Such sadness.**

 **No warnings in this one, although, it** _ **is**_ **a time jump from last time, and then there's a major time jump in the middle of this (to the tune of two months). This chapter would follow less than a week after chapter 7.**

* * *

 **Jays P.O.V.**

"Ok. Ok you can do this you can do this."

The phone rings, once, twice, three times before the voicemail kicks in. My fingers fly, immediately ending the call and redialing. This time a very groggy grunt that is probably meant as a greeting floats through the speaker.

"I-" My throat closes a little more, making breathing all the more difficult. My head feels heavy, my hands tingle as what feels equivalent to spiders crawl down them. Something registers in my brain and I know I'm going to have a panic attack if I don't calm down.

" _Jay?"_ My ragged breathing is the only response I can muster up, eyes closed while I concentrate on breathing. Counting in, counting out, just like she said.

 _Don't think about anything else, just count up to five then count done, that's it, that's all you have to do._

" _Halstead?! Are you okay?!"_ That tone is a rather sharp one, I know from experience if I don't answer soon she's going to come storming over here.

"I got a text."

There's a pause as she turns over my words.

" _You...you woke me up at three thirty in the morning...to tell me about the wonders of twenty first century technology."_

"No…" I whisper, aware of my breathing in every second that goes by. I can't slip, not now, or I'll be on the floor in no time ready to tear my chest open just to get air. Some small part of my rational makes me consider her response.

"Well...maybe…"

" _Are you sleepwalking right now?!"_ There's something muttered after that, sounding like a 'why would I bother asking that' before I can reply with a quiet denial.

" _Why are you calling me Jay?"_

"I got a text...from Al. Alvin Olinski?"

" _We talk, I know him. Go on."_

"He wants to meet. Me. Two days from now." I nibble on my bottom lip, finally able to breath easier.

" _Okaaayyyy…and that's a problem because…?"_

"Wha-are you kidding me?!" I cry in outrage, all anxiety suddenly swiped off the table. "I haven't seen the guy in seven weeks what the fuck do I do? What am I supposed to say? What do we even talk about? What if he asks me abo-"

" _Jay."_

"Yeah."

" _Shut up."_ I huff, right hand white knuckled on the edge of the counter where it's holding my weight.

" _Take a deep breath and calm down. And think about this. For just two seconds. Read me the text."_ I roll my eyes. Yeah, yeah, _now_ she takes me seriously.

"He just asks if I'm busy on Thursday and if not would I like to meet up. To talk."

" _Okay then. You can calm the fuck down now."_

Or not.

"What am I supposed to say?!"

" _Do you like coffee?"_

"We- I me-...Yeah...but I can't-" I sputter, totally thrown. This is not where I imagined this conversation going.

" _Because of your medication yes. Ask_ _ **him**_ _if he likes coffee, then suggest a coffee shop that also serves tea and you're all set."_ Her tone is _way_ too condescending for my liking. How can she not understand this?! Alvin Olinski is an enigma, and that was when everything was normal. How the fuck can I just up and meet him?!

"All set. You're joking right?! What do I do?! He's going to be asking me about _me_ what the hell am I supposed to say back?! What if he asks about what I do with you I can't deal with that right now I can't I'll run or do something and I don't want to be-"

" _You sound like a fourteen year old girl who's afraid to go to the same party as her ex._ "

"You are _not_ helping." _I called you so you could help!_

" _It is now three thirty eight in the morning. I don't give a shit_ _ **what**_ _you think I'm doing. You called me. Deal with it. Besides he won't ask you about Erin."_

"You don't know that."

" _First of all, he asked if you were busy, giving you a wide open out should you not want to come. That implies he's just as nervous, if not more, to meet with you. However he asked you first, which means he hates it but he knows this has to happen however much he doesn't want to. Secondly, he gave no specific location, so he wants you to pick someplace that is most comfortable to you. He's probably afraid that if he picks somewhere you won't show up because you and Erin did something there that one time."_

My mouth open to reply but the words die on my tongue. She does always have a way of putting things in perspective. Erin could do that too, see through all the bullshit and say things how they were. She sorta taught me how to do that too. Her response was a little too detailed.

"Oh."

" _Yeah."_

"But how do you know he won't ask about Erin." Here's the pitch-

" _Because he's not a heartless bastard?"_ Strike one.

"And?" I prompt, knowing the answer but also hoping I'm not crazy for thinking that's the answer.

" _You know, for a guy who can only focus on his problems, you are a damn good detective."_

Strike two...

"Still waiting."

There's a sigh.

" _And because I told him not to."_ It's a line drive down the middle-

"Did you tell him to text me too?!"

" _I...yeah I did. And before you go thinking no one will talk to you unless u make them, let me stop you right here. I made him text you because he needs it more than you do. Plus I specifically told him not to bring up Erin because...well because I want you two to focus on someone else for a change."_ Caught by the pitcher in an act of amazing reflexes!

"Yeah who's that."

" _Hank Voight."_

Error still committed and recorded.

"WHAT?!"

" _Night Jay!"_

Woah woah wait a sec you can't-"

' _Click'_

This. This is fantastic. Really, it's what I needed.

I slouch, tossing my phone onto the counter with a tad too much attitude. Good lord man, meeting with one of my former mentors for the first time since... _and_ she wants us to tackle- hell no.

"I'd ask what you're doing up but honestly, I don't really want to know." I jump a solid ten feet in the air, swearing on the way down. Well, I _was_ calm.

"Jesus christ- what the hell Will?!" The man in question just grins, looking half awake as he pulls at the back of his neck.

"Good morning to you too. Coffee?" The kitchen light flicks on, rudely snapping my eyes shut. I haven't slept yet and I actually took my pill for once, so things have been dulled to the bare minimum of thought.

"It's three in the morning."

"Four." He corrects. "And my shift starts in an hour." I blink, trying desperately to switch conversations, still stuck on the literal bomb she just dropped on me.

"Right." I murmur.

"So who was that."

"Guess." I snap flatly, flicking my phone back on to open texts. Al's name stares at me accusingly, the only person from Intelligence on the screen that I've talked to in the last month.

"What'd she want?" There's a pause which is filled by the coffee machine sputtering loudly. "Or did you call her?" Another pause. Maybe if I just keep quiet he'll figure it out.

"Are you okay?" I push out a breath, forcing my feet to turn so I can face him. The worry on his face is too much though and I can't seem to hold eye contact.

"Don't know." I whisper, staring at the counter top. He doesn't move, having learned I guess, what things are acceptable and what isn't and when.

"Can I ask what happened?"

I bit my lip.

"I'm not going to judge you Jay you know that." _Doesn't make it easier._

"Al wants to meet up. To talk." Unconsciously I tense, bracing myself for the scoffing laughter or release of tension when he finds out I'm freaking out over nothing.

"Thats...big." I suck in a breath, feeling my muscles relax while I nod, mentally berating myself for thinking he'd do that. A lot's changed recently, and most appreciatively, Will has been part of said change. I'm actually pretty proud (and insanely grateful) at how hard he's worked to make sure I'm...comfortable around him. Which means not touching me when I'm more unstable than normal, and not moving when I'm panicking and distracted, as both have notably mistaken for threatening actions.

"I just...I don't know what to do. She said he won't ask about Linds because it's painful for him to, but I mean what if...what if he asks me about what I'm doing? How do I...it's not like I've been good and-"

"Tell him the truth."

"'Scuse me?" Will moves to the coffee, keeping an eye on the clock.

"If he asks how you're doing, just tell him. And for the record, you are doing better. If you are measuring, which you shouldn't be really, you are doing better. You're working to get back and to figure things out and that's okay, that how you grieve. No one said it was easy." He sips, pointedly ignoring my shocked expression in favor of adding sugar to his travel mug.

"I mean this will be the first time you've seen him since Erin right? You'll be okay." He snorts, moving towards the fridge to find something suitable to eat. "Besides, it's not like Al is doing any better. And from what I hear, neither is Dawson. "

That one throws me for a loop. Actually this whole days been throwing me for a loop. Multiple loops actually. It's very disorienting.

"What?"

He glances at me and I can almost see him mentally smacking himself for revealing such information.

"Will." I inquire after the quiet stretches to long.

"Ruzek and Atwater are the only people from Intelligence that have a badge right now. Word is they're working the beat as partners, helping Platt out."

 _I'm not the only one without a badge?_

The thought is foreign and wrong, my subconscious wanting to bat it down instantly as a lie. The concept is ludicrous. Dawson not having a badge? Olinski not being harassed by Adam?

And there's another thing- _Ruzek_ working the _beat?_ Good god he hated that when Platt pulled him down. And for Atwater to go down too, well, then they probably had a talk or something. Didn't want to go back to Intelligence without everyone being there. Go back to the basics instead, traffic duty, tickets, chasing tweakers. Relearning how to get through the day.

It's a humbling thought really. And It's gratifying to know I'm not actually the only person who couldn't deal with recent events.

But therein lies a problem.

Alvin and Antonio not on the job. I'm out of commission, Voights name elicits an image of a black hole. Combine all that with Adam and Kev back on the streets...

"-ey! Jay, answer me!"

"Huh?" There's a hand on my face, tilting my head up. Will suddenly appears in my vision, about two inches from my face. The sudden close proximity makes me snap my eyes open and-

"Why am I sitting?"

"You almost passed out." He mutters, still trying to get my eyes to focus on him.

"Did not pass out."

"I said you _almost_ did. There's a difference. Have you slept yet?" I glare at him, trying and failing to get his hand off my face. "Take that as a 'no'. Did you take your- why am I even asking this you're not even awake right now."

"I am too!" He rolls his eyes, making me dizzy. Or maybe that's because I'm suddenly standing. And moving.

"What are you four? C'mon." Groaning I force my legs to stumble along with him. Man these pills hit _hard_. Or maybe I should've eaten something. Possibly both.

"Yeah well when you get up I'm shoving about ten thousand calories down your throat. You weigh less than Natalie, and she couldn't tip one thirty soaking wet."

I said that outloud? Well shit then.

"Move your legs." Huffing I heave myself up again, trying some what to keep my body from sliding to the floor.

"What about work?"

"Trust me you aren't going to wake up for a while. Call me if you do happen to resurface to consciousness before I get I home." I'd like to protest. There are still questions I need answered, still emotions to be felt and thought through. Unfortunately something soft smacks me in the face, making it hard to speak. Ah. A bed.

"'ill."

One shoe comes off, then the other, then both socks.

"Wiiillllll." I wine.

"Hmm."

Cold air touches my back as the dirty fabric is tugged off and gracelessly yanked over my head.

"'S no m're 'telligence?" The noise stops, the shuffling and the moving and the breathing, and for one wierd second I think I feel asleep and am about to loose thought or something weird. Then a soft-

"No Jay. There is no Intelligence unit currently running out of the twenty first. "

* * *

 ***(Time jump! About a two months.)***

 **Alvin's P.O.V.**

"I'm sorry, I heard you wrong. You want to do _what?!"_ Jay keeps his eyes on his tea, but seems to make an effort to raise his head. He's been doing that more often now, making a conscious effort to look people in the eye. Something no doubt was instilled upon him by our mutual acquaintance and also something he probably hates. I think it's good though. Whether he notices it or not, it's helping him look better. More confident. More him.

"You heard me."

"Yeah, no, I heard something, but it better not be correct, because other wise, I might just admit you to the nearest hospital. You clearly have head trauma."

"I had a session the other day, she said it would be a good idea. Thinks we're ready. Said we could do it."

"What are we doing? And who are we doing it too?" The body belonging to the new voice drops into the seat next me. Jay slides a cup over to Dawson who immediately reached for the sugar.

"Well you see, happy go lucky over here-" Jay glares at me through his sunglasses. "-wants to go do a knock in talk with arguably the most dangerous man in Chicago right now." Antonio smirks at Halstead.

"Well he's not wrong." Jay frowns.

"Which 'he'?"

"Both." I rolls my eyes at Dawsons response. I'm smiling though, however small. These little meetings of ours have helped that response be possible.

The first was by all accounts, the best and the worst. Jay agreed to meet me at this little new age corner cafe thingy that served the _worst_ coffee I'd ever had in my life and (apparently) the _best_ green tea Jay had ever had. We talked for about five minutes, the most awkward seconds of my life, and then he apologized. He _fucking apologized._

To _me_.

Which was wrong on so many levels, but there he went, saying he was so sorry for doing this to the team, and for making everyone stress about him when they shouldn't have cared in the first place, and how if he wasn't such an idiot things wouldn't have gotten this bad.

I actually hit him. Right upside the head.

The next hour was spent convincing each other of things we needed to believe, and saying things we needed to hear. We left, with the promise to meet again the next week, both emotionally drained.

Next time we hit Franny's, then another time was this vendor on fifth, then another . It wasn't until we asked Dawson to join us that he suggested our current spot, the Old Coffee and Mill on the lower east side. It's where we three congregate now, every Tuesday and Thursday morning, just to...get to know each other again.

Chick flick moment galore, I know, but...it's helped. Dawsons got his requalification for firearms on Friday, mines next week, and Jay's was intentionally scheduled three weeks out.

It's not like it was, not by a long shot, but at this point, it's becoming the new normal. It's good. An interesting concept, 'good' is. It's almost foreign.

"Is someone gonna tell me this stupid idea? Cuz I'm in, whatever we're doing." I look pointedly at Jay.

"Go on. Tell him."

"We need to talk to Voight. It's been almost six months since...Erin died, and we've all been through a lot, but he…" He glances around the table. "I mean I haven't heard anything have you guys?"

I shake my head, leaning back in the metal chair stationed next to the concrete wall and clean paneled glass. Our tables stationed in the corner of the outdoor seating area. At first, I think it was because Jay had a need to survey the area, his hypervigilance coming out when he's uncomfortable. And if I'm being honest, I was in the same boat.

Just like how Jay said her name like he had something stuck in his throat. It's been so long now and it's still damn near impossible to admit it. But it happened. Nothing any of us can do anything to change it now.

"Your right Al, he is crazy." Jay flinches slightly, an almost imperceptible movement really. Dawson catches it though.

"Halstead I didn't mean-"

The younger man shakes his head, cutting Tony off.

"It's fine. But _I_ meant what I said." He hesitates to continue, taking a swig of his drink and studying the lid with pursed lips before speaking.

"Besides we need a capable Sargent to be able to recommission Intelligence don't we?"

There is silence. Dawson's head jerks up, looking at Jay, then me.

"That we do." I say softly, meeting Jays gaze, daring him to look away. He doesn't.

 _Good._

"Okay." Antonio mutters with a sense of finality. "But the hard part 'll be finding him first."

Jay lets out a bark of laughter, standing from his seat while chucking his cup in the trash.

"Trust me Dawson, that's not gonna be the hard part."

I do have to say, I most certainly agree with him.

* * *

 **Told you that sucked. On the bright side- CHICAGO PD COMES BACK TONIGHT AND I'M LOW KEY FREAKING OUT-**

 **Okay so not so low key. Anyway-**

 **Please,** _ **please**_ **review. I've been really iffy with my writing lately (especially after getting one singular review on I Am Intelligence) so like if you guys don't want me to keep going with that story, it's fine, just tell me so I don't keep wasting my time. There are plenty of other ideas that I can explore.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	10. Crucify

**Dedicated to anyone who's felt like they lost everything. And For everyone who's lost that part of them self when they left.**

 **Tayler this is for you.**

* * *

 **Dawson's P.O.V.**

"I still think you're insane. I mean how the hell are we supposed to find him?! How are we supposed to _talk_ to him?!"

"Dawson, relax. You'll be fine."

"How can you be a therapist and be this nonchalant?!" She raises an eyebrow.

"If I was anything else, do you think we'd be this far?"

Nope. Intelligence doesn't deal with touchy feels. In fact we generally turn tail and run from it.

Which of course….she knows.

"Right." She smirks. "And as for talking...I think if you get to that point there won't be a lot that you could get wrong...i'd just stay away from certain things until you knew they were okay. Jay would know, he's spent so much time with me he's like a first year psych student. Analyzing everyone he talks to…"

"That so? Oh well then we have everything figured out. We can go on over, drink some scotch, have a normal guys night out? Nuh uh. That guy killed the man responsible for killing his son, what do think he'll do to us? To me who's C.I. stated all this? To Al, who's his best friend that he hasn't seen in six goddamn months? Or how bout to Jay, the kid who got his daughter killed?"

Her face does that thing where without actually changing expression she goes from 'sarcastic therapy lady' to 'extremely dangerous when angry therapy lady'. Something that always happens when someone, _anyone_ , bashes Jay. Ironic really, because I don't think she has a crush on him or anything, she's just extremely protective of him. Like...like we used to be.

I scramble to correct before I'm enrolled into a mental institution. .

"That's not what happened-" It's not. "-but that's how he might see it."

She relaxes, if only slightly.

"You'll handle it."

"Jesus-does he get his craziness from you? Did all that time spent turning him into a med student actually make him as insane as you?"

"You think this is a bad idea?" She raises another eyebrow.

"Hell yeah!"

"And you didn't think to tell Jay because…."

Uh…

"I-he just….I was in shock okay?" I grumble, shrinking in my seat. She gives a little half smile, tapping out a beat with her pen onto her blank note book (she never uses that thing any more.)

"So you're freaking out because you're scared of Voight hurting one of you or because you're scared of him somehow doing something worse...to you." A blink. "Or to Jay."

"He's just...he's so determined to get Intelligence reinstated- I mean he just passed his firearm eval yesterday- and I don't want this to send him backwards."

"Send _him_ backwards or send _you_." I swallow. Three weeks between sessions and I start to forget how easily she reads people. She takes my silence as what it is.

"Antonio, if you don't want to go backwards, then don't. I can't guarantee that Voight isn't going to say things that while be painful. In fact, it's almost a certainty that he will. Face it, you three will be walking in, already working through your grief, and he's gonna be the only person not yet to have faced it."

"Then why are you sending us to get him?"

"First, I'm not sending you, I'm 'suggesting'. Second, I'm pushing you to do this _because_ you're working through your grief. It's gonna be a wake up call for him, and a rather rude one. Therefor, he's going to be more likely to lash out at you, because he's going to be angry that you guys could move on so quickly." I let out a snort.

"We haven't exactly moved on-"

"No, but he'll see it that way. And he'll be angry."

"So then what if he goes after Jay?"

"You gonna let him?" She challenges, eyes narrow.

"Of course not!"

"Didn't think so. And as far as moving backwards goes...backwards is a relative term. When you're grieving like this...there is no forwards or back. You're just...moving." She stops for a second, analyzing me. I assume my confusion is clearly visible, because she quickly moves to elaborate.

"You want to be back on intelligence Dawson?"

"I want there to _be_ an intelligence. Damn right I want to be a part of it."

"Right. So If you could come this far without a goal, without a discernible end point, how do you think you-and everyone else for that matter-are going to do with the idea of going back to work on their minds?"

"You want to regress, be my guest, there's nothing I can do about it. But you have a team, a _family_ , who wants you with them. Think about that while you're talking to Voight."

No, it'll hit _after_ I talk to Voight. I'll need it when I'm staring at my ceiling counting the particles of dust on my fan.

It'll still hit though. I guess that's what I'm really dreading, not the talk with Voight. Unless, because it'll be what he says that will mess with me, I am actually scared of meeting with him-

Shaking my head to clear it, I am still faced with the prospect of confrontation, I'm just now absolutely certain I _have_ to go.

The hope coming in here was that she'd tell me I didn't have to go if I didn't want too….I should understand by now that she is the coddling type. Never was.

"Fine. This is all well and good but how do you expect to us to find him?"

"Antonio Dawson. Are you being serious?"

"Very." I growl.

"Close your eyes." I do, more because it's easier to just go with her crazy shit than try and comprehend it.

"You can't see, correct?"

"Well I'd hope not…" My tone is biting, sarcastically so. I'm tired, I'm frustrated and I'm nervous. Patience is not a virtue I have right now.

"Is your scar still there?"

"Yes…."

"But you can't see it."

...

" _What are you talking about? I wasn't shot-"_

" _When we breached and those guys turned their guns on us...that's when they think it happened." Ruzeks face is pale and drawn, which is confusing because he told me Jay made it out of surgery. My fingers ghost over the bandages underneath gown._

" _Huh. But Jay's-"_

" _Fine. Physically, they said he's looking good."_

" _Physically? Did he say something? What do you mean?" Adam seems to pale even more and then-_

" _Dawson...Erin she...she didn't make it." He keeps speaking, low syllables and pain filled words. I don't understand these things, the words he's saying don't make sense any more. Things like 'Jay coded' and 'still not off the ventilator' and 'because we told him...she's dead.'_

 _It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense. Not just because Jay is as far from 'fine' as he could be but because he's trying to tell me Erin's dead and that doesn't make sense. No part of that makes sense, these things weren't supposed to happen. These things don't happen in the literal blink of an eye. That's what this is, this is me bringing Jay to the hospital then waking up and she's dead._

 _Maybe I'm just not awake. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe It's just some fucked up dream that's a side affect from the anesthesia or something._

 _Maybe if I just go back to sleep, when I wake again everything will me normal._

 _Somehow I know that's not the case._

 _The dread in my stomach is too real. The fear in my veins is to palpable to be fake._

 _This is happening. This is really happening. And I wasn't even here for the main event._

 _..._

"Dawson. How do you know your scar is still there?"

"I can feel it."

"Hmm. So what you're saying is, even though you can't see it, you know it's still there?"

A pause. My eyes snap open to her intense face.

"You can't see it...but you know exactly where it is right? You know where that bullet ripped through you, the one that kept you in a hospital bed almost as long as Jay. You know it's there, because that's where it hurts the most." Her eyes bore into me as she talks, willing me to understand her words.

I hear the message loud and clear.

"I think you know _exactly_ where Hank Voight is right now."

* * *

 **Jay's P.O.V.**

It's dark. My hands are shaking, but I allow them to. I'm to busy trying to keep myself calm to focus on my hands. I've found myself in a rather endless cycle. If I focus on what Olinski is saying, I start to freak myself out about...everything. So I zone out and encase myself with thoughts and have a mental conversation with myself about why I shouldn't be freaking out. I can calm down (mostly), but then my hands are still shaking with adrenaline and I'm concentrating on Olinski's words again and it just happens all over again.

"Jay." There's a hand on my wrist, snapping my eyes up to its owner. Al looks at me, not concerned so much as...careful. Watchful. He doesn't say anything else, but I get the message from the small nod he gives me.

' _We can do this. All of us. Together.'_

We walk up to the front door together, then stand next to each other for about thirty seconds, awkwardly glancing at each other, assuming someone will knock first.

The situation turns humorous when after a minute Dawson just mutters 'fuck it' and walks in. I let out a bark of nervous laughter as I follow him, and Al manages a smirk.

The house is dark, even more so than the dim light outside. The weather doesn't do anything to help my nervousness.

It was dark at Erin's funeral too.

I've come to associate cloudy days with bad things, so much to the point that I feel the same emotions under clouds as I did on that day. Not to the same extent, although for a while I felt everything as if it had just happened. Sometimes I still do.

That's the problem with grieving. You wait for the pain to go away, you wake up each morning praying to god that for just one day, you'll be able to breath freely. For just one second, you could maybe, _maybe_ think without thinking of them.

It never happens. The pain, the anger and sorrow, it all stays. The thing is at some point...you have to choose. Either you let it control you and you spiral or...or you accept it. You work through the days, minute by minute, just existing for a while. And slowly, eventually, you think it fades. But it doesn't really. It hasn't faded if something simple- something like a messy bathroom or a coffee pot- makes it all come sprinting back to you, hitting you so hard you're sobbing on the floor before you realize what's going on.

The idea that it's a dream eventually fades. The hope that I'll jerk awake one night and she'll be there next to me, comforting me, telling me it wasn't real, that is gone. You stop trying to convince yourself that they could come back, that they're not really gone. It's exhausting. So you stop trying and you just take it.

Then at a point you have to decide how to use it.

All that grief turns into your reason to live. You live for them, or you think, 'well fuck it I've gone through all this, I'm making that pain I felt mean nothing'. But _somehow_ you move on. You don't forget, no, you'll never forget.

You remember. And every day, you do something a little different. You find a way to breath, and in doing so you're expressing that person. With every little thing you do, you're remembering that person. You live with that agony of loss.

You live because that person would want you too.

' _Click'_

The muzzle presses against my skull behind my ear, with enough force to bruise the skin. My heart rate instantly soars, body producing more adrenaline to make my muscles tense with energy. Nothing happens for a second, and I turn my head just a fraction towards the gun.

A series of more defined clicks indicates the hammer being pulled back. My head stops moving but my hands rise, stopping chest height in the universal gesture for surrender.

I swallow.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

* * *

 **Sorry it's so short! I wanted to get this out so I could start on my next one shot…unfortunately I Am Intelligence has hit a roadblock…as in I'm out of ideas….**

 **But the next chapter's going to be pretty intense...I think :D**

 **Review pleeaaaassseeeee!**


	11. Never, Never Give Up

**Super huge thanks to everybody who reviewed. It means a lot.**

 **Warning: contains thoughts of suicide, dark themes. Worst of it is in italics.**

* * *

 **Jays P.O.V.**

" _Jay."_

 _There's a pause._

 _"Hey come on, say something."_

 _Say what, exactly? My side aches, deep and fierce, the pain growing slowly as it has been since before the funeral. It hurts so bad now, and I know in a little while I'll probably pass out from a mixture of exhaustion and grief._

 _"Kid. Talk to me. Jay?" There's a hand on my shoulder._

 _Tell him what? That I need a bed? That I need to fall asleep and never wake up, because it would be easier than this?_

 _"Hey! Halstead!" Somebody shakes me, hands griping my arms tightly._

 _"Jay?!"_

 _Or do I tell them that the gun lying on the coffee table looks more and more appealing to me. It would be so easy. Tuck it against my temple, apply pressure to my finger, see Erin again._

 _Alvins gaze slides from my face to follow my gaze. He swallows, then moves quickly, picking up the weapon and clicking on the safety. He walks into the kitchen, angry I think, and says something to Dawson before disappearing into the other room._

 _Press the muzzle against my forehead, squeeze the trigger. See Erin._

 _Leave behind Will._

" _Jay. Hey lets get you back to the hospital huh? Will's gonna kick my ass for letting you stay out this long and…" There's some yelling in the kitchen that makes Dawson pause, Ruzek and Atwater looking uneasily at each other. Antonio swallows, eyes dropping to the floor then back to my face, searching me for something._

 _"Please say something Jay." He whispers, sounding more like a plea than a request. "Please." He begs. "We can't loose someone else. We can't loose you."_

 _He waits, hopeful and ignorant to the increasing volume of the argument in the kitchen. When I don't talk, his face falls, and he stands to walk away._

 _Now or never I guess._

 _"'Tonio." I rasp, blinking against the pain my throat. When **was** the last time I spoke?_

 _He whips around, relief spreading across his face for a split second before its replaced with an angry concern as I finish my thought._

 _"I didn't take my meds." He opens his mouth to scold me or something, but Al beats him to the punch, brushing past the man with an angry mutter._

 _"Come on. Let's get him back to Will." Antonio complies, but opens his mouth to say something as he wedges himself under the shoulder not currently being used by Al. It's unfortunate that they lift me up when then do, because it makes the whole puking experience much less enjoyable._

 _Somebody curses loudly in my ear, and my body feels weird, hot and cold at the same time. I'm sweating, and I can't feel the ache in my side anymore. It's more of a phantom echo of agony, the same I felt when I ripped my I.V. out and got away with it for too long. I'm moving and I can hear somebody rapidly talking on the phone._

 _"Shock." He says, followed by "Over eight hours off pain meds if…"_

 _I think he finishes the sentence, but it's pretty hard to tell with the wind rushing past my ears so quick. My chest is heavy like my eyes, but I make an effort to keep wheezing whereas my eyelids I allow to fall shut. Black spots and morphed color blobs weren't really helping my stomach stay settled anyway._

 _I register time passing, and I'm laying down somewhere. There's an extremly bright light and then-_

 _…_

' _Breath Jay, just breath. He's not going to shoot you.'_

"Hank!"

"Voight, put it down." Antonio's infront of me, calm exterior, gun raised and steady.

I passed my gun evaluation yesterday.

Alvins behind me, weapon pointed at the ground I bet, because he can't bear to aim a live gun at his best friends head.

"I said-" he growls, pressing the gun harder against my head. "-get out."

' _Breathe. Remember to breath. It's okay to be scared. Just keep breathing.'_

"Hank. It's time." Alvin talks and I remember that last time he said those words.

…

" _Jay. I think it's time we talked about this." I'm in the a hospital room, struggling with my shirt. My chest wants to implode. Three bullets will do that to you._

 _He saw. I think they all did, but Alvin saw every part of it. He watched me hesitate. How could I not, when the gang member pointing a gun me was blocking my view of Erin standing behind him?_

 _I could have shot him. I would've shot her._

 _My hands shake. When was the last time I slept?_

 _Rough fingers gently pull the cotton over my head and down my chest. I do the rest, but I can't look at him. I might just break down here and now, and that won't do._

 _"Look. None of us are okay right now. I heard from my friend in the ivory tower that the commanders are reviewing our situation, and so far have ordered a mandatory psych eval on every member of intelligence, involved or otherwise. Until we're cleared, the teams off active duty."_

 _I wrap my arms around my stomach, one hand slipping underneath my shirt to trace my scar._

 _"Hey. Look at me." He tilts my chin up and I jerk away from his touch, focusing on the wall._

 _"Do you know what that means? They're taking our badges Jay. They're taking yours. Until you get all... **this** figured out, you'll be officially suspended."_

…

"Unless you want his brains splattered on the floor-"

"You won't." I cut him off, way to much confidence in my voice considering I'm challenging a man who holding my life in his hands and has nothing to loose. Slowly, with my hands still up, I turn my head towards him.

"You won't shoot. You can't. You havent heard what we came to say."

When no other threat towards me is made, I turn my body towards him as well, eyes slowly rising from the floor to see his face. Clean shaven, interestingly enough. I expected the bodily neglect I inflicted upon my self for the weeks after the team disbanded.

Thank god for brothers huh.

…

" _You need to eat."_

 _"I did."_

 _"When?!" He demands angrily. "Because looking at you, it could've been last week!" He guesteres to my frame, eyes scanning me, taking in the sight of my body. I shrink, self conscious and scared of what might be next._

 _His eyes blaze the same way my dads did when he got to drunk and I got too brave as a kid._

 _"Take off your shirt." He growls._

 _"No."_

 _"Jay!" He snarls, a warning. Don't test me he says. Don't even think about it._

 _I slowly peel off the navy blue t, the one that used to be tight and now hangs off my shoulders. The color drains from Will face, his eyes get glassy but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. The way he presses a hand against his mouth and turns away is enough._

 _His disgust would hurt more if I wasn't the one doing it to myself. Or if I felt anything other than emptiness and pain. Always pain. What's a little more?_

 _He turns back around, angry determination on his face._

 _"I'm making us dinner."_

 _"I'm not hungry."_

 _"To FUCKING bad!" He yells, tears starting to fall down his face._

 _"Are you happy?!" He screams. "Are you happy like this?! Are you happy that your brother with a medical degree let you get this far?!"_

 _"You didn't **let me** do anything!"_

 _"Oh yes I did." He's calmer now, but he's still crying, and I realize I am too._

 _"Yes I did." He repeats. "This-" He points to my chest, clearly referring to the way my ribs stand out against my skin. "-this is because I didn't want to notice. I let this happen. But not anymore. You are going to eat regularly, you're going to go outside, you're going to get out of bed in the morning and shave. And we're going to start tonight, right now, with a fucking plate of toast and peanut butter because if you don't then your next step is going to be into a psychiatric ward. You understand that?!"_

 ** _…_**

"I don't care about your stupid feel good talk."

"We're not trying to give you a sympathy card, Voight. We're just conveying a message." Dawson speaks from behind me, flashlight illuminating the kitchen. I flick my eyes to Al who stands behind Voight. His gun is raised, pointing straight and steady at Voights back.

I blink. Swallow hard.

So this is where we are now.

"And what, pray tell is this all important speech you've prepared for me?" His voice is quiet but no nicer than a snarl. It's the same tone he uses when he's about to show a criminal the business end of a lethal weapon.

"A call to arms." I whisper. "I-we...we're going back."

"And why do I care?" Why would he care? He could stay in retirement no problem. Why bother go back to the last place he saw his daughter alive and well?

I need him. This doesn't work without him. I can't go back to work without him there. I need the reminder. I need the _help_.

"Because you loved her."

The gun never wavers, except now he stretches forward, pressing the muzzle against my forehead. My breath catches and I can actually feel Al and Tony tense up.

I can't stop now though. We're to far into this. I owe it to her, to fix this.

"You love her. And this is how you honor her. This is how we remember Erin."

He stares at me for a long while. I'm getting desperate. If this doesn't work, if these words get through to him, I'm most likely dead. And I don't want to die. Not anymore.

"We're going back to work Voight. Intelligence needs a Sargent."

The safety clicks on.

…

"How you doin kid?" I push my hands against my thighs, savoring the feeling of the soft jean material as it dries my palms. Blowing out a breath I lean back against the couch, closing my eyes. The cushions compress next to me, indicating the close presence of Alvin.

"I'm okay. Considering I just had a gun to my head and that the last time I was here it was right after…."

"The funeral."

"Yeah."

"Where you didn't take your pain meds, went into severe shock and almost died from exhuastion when your body just decided to crash because you were shot and had major surgery less than a week before?" I grimace, snapping open my eyes to stare at the ceiling.

"That. Yes." He nods.

"When's your next…"

"Friday. You?"

"Tomorrow. Dawson's is Wednesday."

"Think she'll clear us?" He shrugs.

"Sure. After making us breakdown and cry and want for the sweet release of death." I laugh, imagining the hard session that awaits me next week.

"It'll be fun."

"Oh most definetly." He deadpans.

Dawson emerges from the kitchen, jabbing a finger towards the door.

"He wants to talk to you." I swallow, tensing up unconsciously. I shoot a desperate glance at Alvin who merely raises an eyebrow.

"Hey this whole thing was your idea. And if he was going to kill you, he would have done it already."

"Yeah. Yeah of course."

"Hey, don't be nervous kid."

"Oh, haha. So funny Dawson. Really, go into comedy." He laughs at my sarcasm. I don't. This is a disaster, how can they be so nonchalant about it?

"Heh, if you think that's bad, you're really not gonna like it when I tell you that Alvin and I are leaving."

"Excuse me?!" Olinski stands, shrugging.

"What? I need to go food shopping and there's only one car. Besides he wants to talk to you alone. This is giving you the ultimate privacy." And with that they leave, giving me nothing more than a pat on the shoulder and a 'you'll be fine' or two. The half hidden smirks are confusing though, because I can't tell if they are amused by my terror or if they know more than they're letting on.

The house is quiet and dark, just like when we entered.

The only difference now is that it's dark outside as well, and I'm sitting on the couch alone like a little kid waiting for the wrath of his parents. No choice but to get up and walk into the kitchen because sitting here listening to the clock tick away is eating at my sanity.

It doesn't change anything. Talking to him doesn't change anything. I'm still going back and I'm still getting my badge back. Hank Voight doesn't change that at all.

At least, that's what I tell myself as I get up from the couch to go talk to the devils advocate.

…

" _They can't just-"_

 _"Yes, they can Jay! They have every right to pull our brass! Jesus- you were shot last week, as in 'should have died' last week, because you lost reality in the middle of a gun fight!" Mouse sighs, dropping back into his seat in front of his seventh thousand computer screens. My eyes stay on the beer in my hand, the only thing keeping the shaking in check._

 _My hands haven't been steady since that day, and I'm getting a lot less sleep without being dead exhausted from PT. And when I do sleep I don't stay still, and I've woken up in strange places. Never outside my apartment thank god, but still. I know a bad sign when I see one. Even if I couldn't care less._

 _"What did you guys think was going to happen? Antonio is agressive beyond reason, Al is coming in hungover every morning, Ruzek barely even talks and Voight just doesn't show up! People notice these things man. And you-"_

 _He stops, clearly thinking his way through the next words. A good choice, a thoughtful one, but I don't feel anything other than hurt anymore so what's the point? He might as well scream and yell at me, tell me to move on, tell me how weak and petty I'm being. It wouldn't matter._

 _I'd still miss her. I'd still want to curl in a corner and sob. I'd still want to forget the day I met her, if only to stop the pain. But then I'd have never known happiness, so how could I want to forget her?_

 _The question only makes me hurt more, makes the throbbing of my heart turn to the push pull of a sharp dagger._

 _"...everyone's worried about you Jay. I'm worried, Will is worried…" His hand lands on mine as he tries to catch my eyes._

 _"I don't want you to get hurt Jay. I don't want you to leave."_

…

"Coffee?"

I blink, so horribly dumbfounded at the easy tone of his, and the posture to match. He's sitting at the kitchen table, sipping at his own mug. I've managed to move a solid two inches past the doorway.

"Relax kid, I'm not going to kill you."

"I'll try to remember that when I think of the gun you put to my head." He contemplates this for a second.

"That's fair." I give a small nod, wondering if this could possibly get anymore awkward.

"Sit." I do. He looks at me for a while, then eventually gives a small smirk.

"I still rember the day you came into the unit. Didn't look scared, didn't look nervous. You were just...quiet. And I remember thinking about how Dawson had said you were good police, and how you had the potential to go even farther than the twenty first. So when I saw you, and I saw how you watched everyone, saw everything, absorbed everything, I knew he was right." He pauses, sipping again at his coffee.

"I also saw how you hung on to your military background, how you over analyzed things because in Afghanistan, analyzing everything is the how you survive. I saw how you became frustrated when the unit wasn't what you thought it was, and I saw your potential for the blindness of anger and passion. I saw it, because I recognized the way you acted in myself.

"And for a while I was afraid of having an inexperienced version of me as Erin's partner. I knew you'd get her killed, or you'd break her heart."

My hands tighten their grip on the edge of the chair seat, knuckles white as my face as the blood drains from it.

I knew he'd blame me. I knew he'd put this on me and I knew I'd react just as I am now, because while I can tell myself everyday that it's not my fault, while I can convince the therapist and I can convince the guy looking in the mirror at me, deep down, it's always hinged on this. It'll always hinge on this.

I need him to forgive me. Because if the man who fathered Erin, the one who was closer to her than anyone else, if he can forgive me, then maybe, just maybe, I can forgive myself.

"I was wrong."

My head snaps up and I know the shock shows on my face, because I can barely register the words in my head, never mind get my thoughts in order in time to guard my expression. He laughs, and I realize it's the first time I've ever heard him do so.

"I know, I know. You expected me to jump across the table and strangle you or something. And in truth, there's a part of that still wants to. Hence the gun to the head- although in all honesty I thought you were...unfriendlies."

I manage a nod.

"Hey breath kid. I don't need Al coming back to find you passed out on the floor."

I nod again, jerky and uncoordinated, but I gasp in oxygen nonetheless, unaware that my lungs previously refused to do so.

"You-I thought-but-" I sputter for an eternity or two before finally ending with a very intelligent sounding:

"How?!"

"How what? How do I not hate you? The guy one would think I would have every reason to blame for my daughters death?"

"Yeah…"

He shrugs. Studies his mug.

"I like to think she'd kick my ass if I did. Just like when she came after me all riled up because I tried to separate you two. Only on a much larger scale. And see the thing is, no matter how angry I got I couldn't cover up my denial. I told you once Jay, I'm not always right. I couldn't admit to myself that you made her happier than I've ever seen her. If I did that, it would mean she was grown up; no longer my little girl. I'd already lost Camille and she was just like her…."

He finishes his coffee. I desire to go outside to for some fresh air and to double check that the sky is still blue and hell hasn't frozen over.

"But I couldn't blame you for loving her Jay." My mouth opens for a reply but he cuts me off.

"Just because you never said it doesnt mean it wasn't true. I saw the way you looked at her. It was the same way I looked at my wife. So how could I blame you for loving her when I loved her too? It wasn't in the same way of course, and when she left we didn't have the same grief. But we felt the same amount of pain. I don't know about you, but I still do."

"Everyday." I murmur. He bobs his head knowingly. I dare my eyes to raise from the table to make eye contact.

"Why didn't you come back?"

"I was waiting." Hank doesn't even miss a beat. "I wasn't ready for a long time. Like you guys I had to 'figure things out'. And when I thought about it, I felt old."

"You're not old-"

"Not like that smartass. I just didn't want to go back to working under somebody-"

"-unless you had the right people to help you deal with thier shit. Yeah I know the feeling." He throws me a smirk as I finish the sentence.

"I'll come back. On a few conditions."

I raise an eyebrow prompting him to continue.

"One: your going to listen, and I mean really listen to what I'm about to say."

"Shoot."

"You were just trying to save her. And despite what you may think, despite what I thought for a long time...I think you did. She died the way she wanted to-protecting the person she loved most. That's what's important."

My breathe catches in my throat and my chest starts to feel tight. It takes a literal conscious effort not to spiral into an anxiety attack. That and the hand on my shoulder definetly helps.

"It wasn't your fault Jay. It wasn't your fault. I need to know you understand that."

I manage a shaky nod. I've been doing a lot of those lately, those nonverbal symbols of communication. Speaking can just be so hard sometimes.

"What's...number two?" I stammer, a desperate attempt to ease the tension on my body.

"Well since there's going to be a spot open now that means you and I are gonna have to ride together, so I better not have to deal with you shit every morning. Kapeesh?" I let out a bark of watery laughter.

"Yes sir. We're clear."

 **It's happeninnnnnngggg! We've hit the point of no return! I honestly can't wait for next chapter y'all gonna scream at me.**

 **No joke. You might actually through something.**

 **Review please!**


	12. Sincerely

***cackles evilly***

 **ARE YOU READY MY CHILDREN IM ABOUT TO FUCK YOU UP**

 **or you are possiblely all smarter than I give you credit for and you all have seen this coming for miles away in which case here is the next chapter sorry for the wait hope you enjoy**

 **;)**

* * *

 **Jay's P.O.V.**

"You think you're ready?"

"Absolutely." An eyebrow rises.

"Okay." She says, wiping out a piece of paper from a folder and scribbling on a couple lines. The white sheet is then handed to me.

' _This document hereby certifies that…'_

My eyes widen and I stare at her in awe.

"That's it?" The eyebrow rises higher.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Well I kinda expected a little more…"

"Emotionally disabling and mentally taxing revisit of painful memories to determine your ability to handle them?"

I nod. She smirks.

"Well I think we've done enough of that. And you broke the final milestone there, taking on the big bad Voight."

"I wouldn't call it that exactly…"

"He put a gun to your head."

"Not the first time." Her face softens, whether she's thinking of my line of work or a possible suicide attempt I just haven't told her about, I don't know. I know what I was referring to however, and it wasn't the latter.

"I know." She says, voice low. She nods to the paper in my hand before standing and walking behind me, talking in a more authoritative tone now.

"I have something I'd like you to do, since this is our last mandated session. Although I encourage you to come see me what ever time you like, I thought this would be a good wrap up of sorts." I stand up at her request, following her into the back of the room, where she's standing by one of her enormous bookshelves, the ones that span from wall to wall, floor to ceiling. She hands me a notebook, one not extremely thick, the entire thing covered in brown leather so it resembles an expensive planner rather than a journal.

"This is the first one, it's a combination of four people. The next one is just Mouse, then you might get some people who used three or four. Names are on the inside cover." Confused I flip open the book, reading the names scrawled there, each in a different style of script, indicating that they wrote it there themselves.

' _Ruzek. Atwater. Burgess. Roman.'_

"What is this?" I whisper, flipping through the pages, but only noting where the handwriting changed, not seeing the words.

" _This_ …" She thumbs all the books on the shelf. "...is the final assignment. I've had everyone do it, everyone who comes through me. From here on is your team. You last task, is to read them."

"But what are they?"

"They're the thoughts, emotions, and story of each of your teammates journey."

"I thought we weren't supposed to talk about what happens in the sessions."

"You aren't." She calls, already having walked back to her desk. "But that was there therapy, so I'm making this yours. You don't have to write, you are going to read, and understand, what was going through their heads."

"I assume I'm ignoring how creepy this is." I sass, collecting the books and plopping them on the ground.

"Preferably."

...

 _'...I spend the night staring at my ceiling, mourning not one, but two friends.'_

 _'...if you had been better friends with Jay you could have helped him...'_

 _'She pegged my emotional state the second I walked in and...'_

 _'"This is what is now and this is going to show you who you are."_

 _"...You just made him worse!" Her mouth open with what must be a sharp retort..."_

 _"Jay doesn't put the error on Voight. So why do you?"_

 _''...he's been killing himself over Erin but this...he wouldn't..."_

 _"You care more deeply, more whole heartedly, then any team, any cop, I have ever had the pleasure of coming into contact with."_

 _"...And why do I care?"_

 _"Because you loved her."_

 _..._

This is...more than insane. Being inside the heads of each of my coworkers...each of my family...it's crazy. It's like seeing the world through their eyes. It's so detailed, it's like I'm actually there, feeling what they feel. Extremely informative, yes, but also kinda creepy. Like I'm intruding on what should only be known by them.

And the ways it's written too. Like they must've recorded the sessions or something because there's no way they could've remembered this. The details and thoughts put into this...how could you possibly remember your thoughts from weeks before?

There is something weird about them though. At the end of each of the entry's there's sentence each of them wrote. Including Al, whose book I'm just finishing. As expected, the same thing is written there, larger than the rest of the text.

' _I know her name.'_

I don't get it. So I flip back to the other books, seeking validation that they're written there.

' _I know her name.'_

' _I know her name.'_

' _I know her name.'_

' _Do you?'_

The last entry throws me for a loop. What is hat supposed to mean? Who are they talking about? And to who? To me?! How could they know I would read them? She didn't tell them so…

She?

She. My therapist.

' _I know her name, Jay. Do you?'_

The book drops from my hands as if it was on fire.

"Jay? Are you okay?" Looking up I can see her face, actually see her face, for the first time. I can't remember anything that seemed so easy before, the clothes she wore or color of her hair. Because I've never seen it before.

It's _her._

It's _her_ face, _her_ hair, _her_ figure, all outlined by sunlight from Windows that were never there before. I crawl backwards in terror, heart pounding, my ears ringing.

"Halstead?" My back slams into the wall, allowing me to scramble up it. Black is encroaching my vision and some loud whining noise is flooding my ears, disorienting me further.

 _This isn't real, it's not real, it can't be happening...what the hell is happening?!_

" _Jay?"_ The world is tilting and swaying, her face stretching and distorting and color is leaking down the walls and I can't _breath_. She keeps talking but her words are stretched out and _oh my god_ what is going on?! I'm hallucinating I must be hallucinating, it's the only way this is possible. She reaches for me, that smile on her face and my hearts about to explode and she's going to touch me oh god I can't-

Snapping off the wall, I get about one step before everything tilts horribly and my face meets the ground.

…

" _You wanna stay in this unit you keep it in your pants…"_

" _...he didn't put me out...I volunteered…"_

" _...not have told you everything about New York…"_

" _...I don't care about him! Are you okay?!"_

" _...meaning to say this...I'm proud to have you in this unit."_

"Jay?"

A small shuffling sound. The name is quietly spoken, directed at me but the volume censored for others.

"Kid? Can you hear me?" Again the soft voice. I've never heard this voice soft before, which must be why it's so weird. Then again I haven't seen the guy in a long time, I'm assuming he's changed. Why he's in my hospital room, which I'm assuming is what this is, I couldn't tell you. We aren't exactly best friends, despite our conversation earlier in the week. He's not even reinstated yet.

My eyes refuse to open, a small moan flowing from my mouth that sounds more like a whimper. But _God,_ I'm in so much _pain_. What the hell happened? Was I drugged or something? Who would drug me though? I haven't been on a case in so long…

"Halstead man, it's okay, just relax." Okay, so is the whole team here or…

There's a small conversation around me as more feeling returns, allowing me a moment for my nerves to register the pain of literally _everything._ There's a horrible pressure on my chest and something hot is stabbing me in the stomach and _holy_ _fuck_ this _hurts_. Another moan, this time sounding slightly more manly and filled with pain that I don't have the coordination to express.

"Jay?!" Some loud beeping noise is whining somewhere, screaming at me like a huge mosquito in my ear. That whine. It's a beep? Yeah. A really fast beep, mixing with something else that's beeping and that's what I heard right before I-

"Jay!" That voice. Dear god. That voice, I can't still be hearing that, I was drugged that's why I saw her, I was seeing things, there's no way...it can't be.

"Jay, brother, hey, can you open your eyes for me? Jay? Can you hear me?" Will. That's Will. He can be here. He's supposed to be here. He was here when I woke up the first time, he should be here now. I try for him and only him, to open my eyes.

Success!

For about one second. Then something slams then shut again. More quiet conversation then something cold is pushed into the veins on my arms. All the pain goes away, but closely followed is consciousness and while my brain is shutting down I'm really afraid that when I wake up everyone's going to be gone and I haven't seen them together in so long and just-

...

" _...we're all right here Jay. You just keep fighting okay? Just keep fighting…"_

" _...never say it, but he's tearing himself up with guilt. He thinks it's his fault somehow…"_

" _...we got the asshole who hit you guys too...some multiple DUI drunk working for the triad…"_

" _I'm so sorry Halstead...man I just...just need you to wake up okay just…please Jay…"_

" _Don't leave us."_

…

The next time I wake up, it's slower, but not as painful, and while my stomach still feels like someone's poking it with a red hot piece of rebar and my chest feels like someone put twenty sandbags on it, that person also removed the wet rags from my brain, and I can think about things without losing them.

Somebody's head is on my shoulder, a soft mane of hair tickling my chin and informing me I have to shave something horrible. The person's body is curled around my right arm, a small tight, tense little body of muscle and warmth. I sigh, the feeling familiar and comforting. My hand curls around the small one in mine and I tilt my head towards the soft being on my shoulder, resting my chin on her head.

A chair goes skidding across tile, feet are heard slamming onto the floor as multiple bodies are propelled upright.

"Jay?!" Ruzek? Why does he sound so worried? And so... _guilty_? I mean to say something, some form of 'Wat the feck ya want?' but it comes out as a mumble. The tension in the room skyrockets, excitement seems to crackle through the air. What's the big deal, I can't even talk Jesus guys-

Wait a second.

The weight is moving, scrambling away from me and leaving a spot of cold air in its place. More excitement fills the room, then a pair of hands cup my face.

"Jay?" It's the voice of an angel, soft and quiet and _familiar_ but for some reason I can't quite…

Forced to open my eyes, I can make out a blurred, tan blob in front of me, behind her, more tan blobs with darker colored bodies. Probably their clothes.

"Can you hear me?"

"Wha?" My voice is like nails on a chalkboard, horribly rough, but not from injury. No it's only sore from lack of use. The colored blob that dominates my vision is slowly sharpening, and I can see her smiling.

"Welcome back." She whispers, sitting back onto the bed, near my hips. My eyes wander of their own accord away from her to the other people in the room. I still can't see any faces, but just through their posture I can make out their identities. Antonio, Alvin, Ruzek, Atwater. Even Voight, standing sullenly against one wall in the back. And then of course there's Will, who enters unaware of everything and walks right in staring at a chart before he stops and notices my eyes tracking him.

And here I was thinking I'd seen every side of him. Nope, wrong. His eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and the pure surprise turns to relief which turns to actual joy for a moment before his placid Doctor face slips back into place and he's walking over, pulling his little flashlight from a pocket.

"Thanks so much for telling me he was awake guys." He says sarcastically. The team gives this communal grumble, Erin answering with a snarky little-

Erin. _Erin._

 _What._

Will, whom was shining the stupid light in my eyes, notices my elevated breathing. He frowns, leaning back to check the million monitors connected to me. And Erin's just sitting there. Just _sitting there_.

No, no this is wrong. All of this is wrong. This isn't...

"How-" I start, staring at her, then everyone else, then her again and fuck I must be dead or something. Maybe I overdosed. Maybe this is all a dream and I'm just passed out on my therapists floor like some weird acid trip or something because this isn't real this can't be happening she _can't_ be here.

She's dead.

"You were in a car accident. Do you remember Jay?" Ruzek seems to flinch at the first sentence.

"A...what?!" I rasp. Adam looks like he's going to puke, Will is standing at my side, hand on my arm and this Erin is still...she's still right there. She's...this isn't possible, this is supposed to be _over_ -

"You were in the Buic with Ruzek, a guy blew a red light while you were chasing Anderson. T-boned you on your side. Flipped the car. You've been out for almost a week." I stare at Olinski, who has this hidden face that informs me that's not even half the story.

"Who?!" I yell. Everyone shifts slightly, excitement at my awakening changing to apprehension.

"Daniel Anderson? Guy who killed four woman in front of their children?" _What the hell are they talking about?!_

"Jay, Do you remember _anything_?" Ruzek looks scared shitless, staring at me with pain in his eyes after he asks his question.

"Better question, what's the last thing remember?" I want to say, _being in my therapist's office and passing out_ but I'm starting to think maybe that isn't the best answer because clearly I'm missing something here, if evident by my dead ex partner sitting next to me on the bed.

She's not real right? She can't be real. I'm just seeing her, my brain is just trying to cope. That's it. I'm just seeing her now.

But that doesn't make sense. She was going to clear me, she would've known if I was in danger of hallucinating. She _did_ clear me, hell she-

It suddenly occurs to me that those books pointed something out. Or rather, what was written in them.

 _I_ _don't_ _actually know her name._

How bout That I've _never_ known her name. And the Erin sitting in front of me is just as real as everybody else in the room. I _felt her_ touch me.

This is real?

How can this be real?

"Jay?" Will's hand gives my arm a squeeze, grounding me, asking me to answer his question.

"I...um…" I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to shut out the concerned face of my lost love. Wracking my brain for some solid event that was large enough to be a rock solid milestone, I'm lost in the confusion. Everything's to jumbled, to messy.

"Uh...I remember being in Keys house...and Erin…" Every one acts kinda surprised and concerned, you know, eyes widening and postures shifting.

"That was-"

"What else? Anything after Keys?" Voight jumps into the conversation cutting of Antonio. I swallow.

"I remember my badge being taken away and then the commander…" I trail off, unsure of all the shocked looks I'm getting. Ever my unreal Erin looks at me horrified.

"What do you mean? Hank has your badge right now. It's waiting for you once you get cleared." I flinch at Erin's last sentence, not just because she's talking and by god I've missed that so much that hearing it makes me want to cry, but because that's just what _she_ always talked about and…

In the end _she_ was always Erin.

God I can't breath.

"Do you...I mean _anything_ else after Keys?" Idly I notice Ruzek looks like he's going to pass out, but my head is spinning to fast and I don't want to be next to anyone but Will, because all these people, they aren't intelligence, they aren't the intelligence I know.

But then I'm not the Jay they know I guess.

 _This is real_.

 _This is wrong._

 _But...but this is real._

 **Will's P.O.V.**

"No." Jay rasps. Erin blinks in confusion.

"No?"

"I don't want you here. "

"What?!"

"All of you. Get out. Now." Intelligence looks at each other in worry and hurt and I for the life of me can't understand what my brother is doing.

"Jay you just-"

"I said get out!" He yells, pushing Erin softly to get her off his bed.

"Get out! I don't want you here! Just leave me alone!" He is yelling, to the best of his ability anyway, but I can see the slight shuddering of his diaphragm. Suddenly I understand.

"Okay, C'mon guys." I say quietly, the voice of a doctor. Slowly I usher them out of the room. On the way out I squeeze Erin's hand, staring her in the eye with a silent promise.

' _I'll fix this.'_

After closing the door I scuttle back to my brothers bed where he is panting and gasping, trying hard to hold in the tears. Sitting on the edge of the mattress I look at his scrunched up face. It's quiet for a minute. Then he lets out a sob. Then another and another until he's bawling like I've never seen him do before. Sighing I wrap a hand around his shoulder and he leans forward, pushing his head into my shoulder. I gently rest my head on his as he soaks my shoulder with his tears.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Jay." I whisper. Slowly his sobs subside and he stares at me, face stripped of protection.

"I can't love her anymore."

"What? Who?!"

"Erin. I can't-I...can't even look at her." He whispers.

"Jay you've had a crush on Erin since you met her, I'm sure she's gonna understand that you're a little shaky, I mean you just _died_ -"

"No I didn't. She did. She died Will. She died because of me and I spent months of my life mourning her. I moved on. She died and I got over her and now she's here and I don't think- I don't know I'd I can see her, I went to her _funeral_ Will...I can't love her again."

 _Ok, confusion's normal for this kind of trauma but what the fuck-_

"Jay, you're making no sense okay. I know what you went through was traumatic, but Erin's still here. She never left. You were the who was almost killed, who actually _died_. Look I'll have Doctor Charles talk to you maybe-"

"No!" He sobs again. "I'm not crazy! It happened!" Extreme concern shoots through me, partially because the fact he's this upset over it and partially because from a medical standpoint this very abnormal for him. I've been next to Jay when he wakes up from a near death experience and he's not one to be a 'dreamer'.

Some people, after near death or after dying only to live again, their minds create false realities to explain the absence of memory. Their brain can't comprehend what happened so it creates a fake set of memories to preserve the process of logical thought. Some religions call it different things, but from a scientific standpoint...well there's the grey area. It not exactly possible, though Jay was in a coma for some time. A prolonged nightmare would be completely plausible.

"Jay." I speak gently. "It's okay to think that something happened when it didn't."

"It happened! Why won't you believe me!?" He screams and I jolt backwards as though burned. I see a couple nurses give hard glances towards the room. The last thing I want to happen is for them to sedate Jay because he starts freaking out, so I decide to humor him.

"Okay, okay. It happened. It happened, but I wasn't there. So why don't you tell me about it huh? That way I can understand."

"You were there." He whispers.

"What?"

"You were there." My brother repeats before going into a full detailed explanation of what he believed was reality for six and a half months. The more he talks, his voice so animated and feelings so raw and real, the more I start to wonder how he coped for so long afterwards. It was a solid fifteen minutes or so before he ordered intelligence to leave.

The intelligence that stood beside his bed hadn't existed in his mind. They weren't real. And yet he managed to talk coherently to them? I would have been full on blubbering till they sedated me.

"Wait, so how did you know all that stuff, about me and Antonio and everyone? All our thoughts?" I ask at the end, completely awed with amazement at the detail of this kind of fantasy land.

"She said that she made you write it all down, as like a therapy exercise. Told me I could read them."

"That's….more than insane. And impossible."

"You're telling me?"

"Yes, because your mind not only created an alternate universe, but it also created detailed experiences and thoughts and scenarios of other people that not only went along exactly with the most highly probable outcome for that situation, but you, yourself also saw it with your own eyes. " We both jump about ten feet in the air as Doctor Charles makes his presence known, walking forward into the light.

"How long have you-"

"Oh, I heard all of it. And I gotta say, your brain is quite remarkable, Jay."

"Doesn't feel remarkable." He grumbles.

"As for loving Lindsay, I think the better question to ask yourself is that in moving on with your life without her, did you ever stop loving her? In that alternate reality, would you have ever stopped wishing for her later in life?" Jay just stares at him, more than shocked. Charles glances to me, tilting his head to the door. Understanding I rise and start to exit the room.

"Think on that one. I'm just gonna talk to Will real quick." Closing the door, he quickly turns to me, dropping the placating Doctor voice and switching to one of urgency.

"You can't tell them. Or him. Never talk about this to anyone else but me."

"What?!" I yell softly, way beyond lost. Throwing a sharp look towards to closed door, Charles pulls me into the break room.

"Odds are, in the next twenty four hours, he's going to forget a lot, if not all of what he just told you. If he doesn't, then its up to him to tell his team, not you. Got it?"

"But-but-bu-"

"Will." The psych doctor patiently wait for me to catch up. "Those memories, that fake reality seems indisputably real to him right now. It's one of his worst nightmares. When you wake from a nightmare, the fear and panic stays with you even though you're awake right?"

I manage a nod.

"But later on in the day, you can still recall that fear, though it isn't in the magnitude that you first experienced. By the next day, you can only remember that you had a nightmare, not what it was, or why you were scared. I'll spare you all the brain mumbo jumbo as to why, but just know that those memories have about the same shelf life as dream. A couple days from know, he'll be almost back to his normal self, the only thing remaining would be the feeling that something's wrong." I push a breath out through my mouth, puffing my cheeks. Nodding vigorously I try to piece together the last part of the puzzle.

"So if I tell him about it…"

"Not only will he have little idea of what you are talking about, but he will probably be on edge for the rest of the week, because he has this idea that something is messed in his life, but won't know why. Which given his job, having him distracted could be…"

"Disastrous. Gotcha." I glance around the room, eyeing the clock before shedding my lab coat.

"What about his memory?"

"Well if it's a psychological thing, then he'll get them back as his other memories fade. If it's a physical thing, then I believe that would be up to you and Rhodes."

"Right. Ok." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "So what...what am I supposed to do?"

"Right now it would probably be best if he got some rest. Alone."

"Okay...then what do I tell his team?"

The good doctor shrugs, a small smile on his face.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out."

* * *

 **So? Surprise? Not so much? Did you like it? Or nah?**

 **Well next chapter i believe is the real teams point of view...like what _actually_ happened...hehe. So much fun.**

 **Review pleasssseeeeee!**


	13. Are We The Waiting

***peeks out from around corner* please don't kill me. It's my busy season. Finals and midterms and AP studying and….gross.**

 **This is a few days after Jay wakes up.**

 **In case anyone was horribly confused, because last chapter was shit- it was all in his head.**

 _ **All of it**_ **.**

 **Warning: dark themes and sexual assault mentioned in this, however briefly.**

 **O-/-O**

 **Olinski's P.O.V.**

The tip came in around eleven at night, twenty six hours after caught the case. Ruzek, Jay, Antonio and I had all suited up, got in respective cars, and driven to park outside Spencers bar on the northern side of Chicago.

I told Ruzek to park on the other side of the street, facing the opposite direction of Dawson and I, so no matter which was Anderson would go, we would be able to follow him.

If I had known following him would have produced the extremely undesirable outcome that it did, then I never would have told him to do so. But then, that's how it always works. If you knew that decision was a bad one, you wouldn't make it.

Rhodes said we were lucky he woke up at all. They lost him once in the ambo, then again on the table for over five minutes. Couple the lack of oxygen from his heart stopping to the severe concussion and slight brain bleed he had, they fully expected Jay to stay in a coma for the rest of what would have been his short life, had the infection spread any further. As it was, they were minutes away from taking out his spleen before the meds started doing their job.

Ruzek honest to god thought he killed Erins partner, our teammate and friend. Even when Connor told us things were looking better, that his brain activity was climbing back to normal levels, and the infection (which came on so quickly they didn't even know it existed until he was having a seizure because his temperature was so high) was fading, Adam still would sit in his room with Erin, looking like he thought he deserved to be stoned to death.

Hell Lindsay was less of a wreck then he was, after the tears stopped and she was in numb agreement that there was nothing else to do but wait and see if her lover chose life or death. She talked to him a couple times, once because I asked her to, once because he decided to get in a yelling match with her and god help anyone who dared to challenge her when her boyfriend was lying with a tube down his throat because he was too weak to breath.

It isn't his fault. It never was, never will be. No one blames him for it, except himself. Try convincing him of that however, is proving to be near impossible. He was driving.

I had caught him before we went out. Told him to take the wheel and basically ignore any of Halstead's protests, because while we hadn't slept in over twenty four hours, he hadn't slept in at least forty eight. Erin was with Voight and Atwater talking to one of the victims clients, so it was just us four who went to go sit in front of the bar. And if Jay fell asleep, well, no one would get hurt. The kid jumps awake at the sound of a pin dropping, I figured any danger he'd hear coming a mile away.

The guy we were waiting for was Daniel Anderson, an all around psychopath who got his kicks getting in with single moms, seducing them, then raping and killing them in front of their kids. Some as young five years old.

It's not the worst I've seen. I'm sure it's not the worst Jay had seen either. But the kid looked dead on his feet and emotionally drained after talking to the kids of the most recent victim. Thats right. He did this something like five times in the last year. A little digging showed that his wife had an affair with her coworker, and he walked in on them doing it right in front of their three year old son- who he lost custody of in the divorce.

I'd say that'd be his trigger.

Anyway, I knew we'd probably be sitting outside the bar for a while. Since we couldn't arrest the guy, Hank wanted to know where he was, so that when we actually got a judge to sign off on the warrant, we could arrest him no problem. Why stake out a bar to follow him? Well the bar is the only place he frequents, and we already talked to the owner, who had called us the second he walked in. Anderson's a hard man to find, we didn't want to take the chance that he could disappear.

Four sets of eyes watching one door. I took a chance and allowed that to become three. Told Ruzek to let his temporary partner relax, and not ten minutes into sitting on our asses I got a text of confirmation accompanied with a picture of Halstead zonked out in the passenger seat.

Two hours after that Anderson casually came out of the bar and proceeded to empty an entire magazine into the side of their car.

He then jumped into his SUV and speed off, the squealing of tires echoed by Ruzek as they went after him. Because of how we parked, Dawson and I had to turn the car around before joining the chase, which means we didn't actually see the first part of the crash- we only arrived as Anderson careened over the guardrail to flip his car in a ditch.

He died instantly. Broken neck and all.

We found that out second hand, because he sure as hell wasn't our priority when we jumped out of the car. No, the crumpled grey Buic on the other side of the street was. The one with blood running down the outside of the car.

…

" _Antonio go around see if you can get to Ruzek." The younger man darts away from me, hand on the radio speaking rapidly as he calls for help. I approach the passenger side of the car, crouching to peer into the crumpled window frame. My partner is leaning across the center console slightly, an unconscious Jay slumped against him._

" _Kid!" Ruzek looks up, blood running down his face, fear plastered across his features._

" _Al! I...I cant- he won't wake up I-"_

" _Adam, breathe. Focus on Antonio alright, I got Jay." Said person suddenly appears on the driver's side, and I gently pull Halstead back into his seat, supporting his head the whole way._

" _Jay? Can you hear me?" There's no response, no even a moan. Blood soaks both sides of his face, dripping down from the side of his head and above his hairline._

" _...car hit his side dead on. I-...I didn't see it, I just had the lights on so I thought the light would be green…" My eyes flick over to where Ruzek is telling Antonio what happened. I don't miss the clear tone of guilt seeping into his voice, but I don't have time to focus on reassuring him now. Not when Jay's body is entirely limp like a ragdoll, not when I have to press to fingers to his neck to make sure he's still alive, because I couldn't get a pulse on his wrist._

 _There's blood littering Halsteads hands where glass caught skin but that's nothing to the dark stain that is slowly spreading from across his shirt from below his vest._

" _Dawson we gotta get his vest off." I call in response to the sharp whistling noise that is starting to become more noticeable. He definitely broke some ribs, and if any are pressed on lung…_

" _He was hit."_

" _What?!" I snap my gaze up to Ruzek, who's looking like he wants to throw up._

" _The shots- I woke him up before he started shooting and we both ducked but one of the bullets caught him below the vest...he said he was okay and I...I just...if I had just stopped…"_

" _You really think he would have let Anderson get away because he was hit? Come on Ruzek, he wouldn't have let you do anything but chase him down and you know it."_

…

Six days later, and clearly Ruzek did not know it. In fact when the Dr. Rhodes came out after the five hour surgery where he fixed the hemopneumothorax and massive internal bleeding/bruising, and told us all that despite his efforts Jay probably wouldn't make it to see next sunday, Adam literally _ran_ to the bathroom to puke his guts out.

…

 _I follow the sounds of heaving to the last stall in the room. It's not locked, but I don't make a move to come in._

" _Adam it's not your fault."_

 _There's a pause after the last heave, in which some heavily gasping words are sent my way._

" _Not my fault? Not my fault?! Are you insane?! It's completely my fault!"_

" _Look kid…" There's another heave, this one mixing to sound more like a sob._

" _Didn't you hear him? Didn't you hear what he's got to fight against if he's gonna live?"_

 _I sigh, scrubbing a hand across my face._

" _Ruzek, you did everything you could…"_

" _Did I?" He snaps, voice almost rabid. There's a flush and then the door whips open to show me his tear stained face._

" _Because I know I sure as hell didn't look at that light." His voice is rough, wavering and low, a snarl of rage and guilt directed solely at himself._

" _You aren't trained to! None of us are! And if I was in that situation I would have done the same thing you did. So would Voight. So would Erin." Anger flashes across his face, raw and unbridled and I'm able to process that he didn't care to really hear what I said before he starts yelling._

" _Didn't you hear Rhodes? Jay is_ _ **dying**_ _. And even if he manages to survive the night, or the day after, he's never going to wake up, because I couldn't take a second to look where I was going!_ _ **I**_ _was driving, not you!_ _ **I**_ _was driving, not Voight!_ _ **I'm**_ _the one who killed Halstead, and nothing you say is going to change that!"_

 _With that he pushes past me, slamming the bathroom door open as he leaves. I sigh again, taking off my hat to rub at my forehead._

" _Damn it Kid." I mutter to the empty stalls. "Look what you've done to us."_

…

And then there was the infection, brought on by his weakened immune system and the fact that he hadn't eaten in over a day and hadn't slept in two. There was the night where we all said our goodbyes, and I was with Erin as he flatlined the second after she told him she loved him.

I was there the days after, as he slowly got better, as we all begged him to hold on just a little bit longer, because he was getting there, he was so close to coming back, he just needed to keep fighting.

I was there when he woke up, beyond scared and confused, terrorized by the sight of Erin sitting next to him. There when we we realized the last thing he remembered was almost a year ago and that we don't get the happy ending we prayed for.

Or maybe we do. Becuase Will said he's starting to remember more things, that he's starting to get back to the guy we know. Rhodes confirmed said theory, but still wouldn't allow visitors.

That may have been enough for Erin and Atwater to forget about what happened. That may have even been enough for Voight and Dawson to forget about it too.

But good news didn't suddenly make me stupid. And it didn't suddenly make me decide to ignore the pure _panic_ that colored Jays features when he saw all of us in the same room.

Ruzek saw it too, but he attributed it to something else. What, I don't know, but it wasn't what it was.

I saw the apprehension, that changed to terror when he saw Erin. The subconscious wistfulness, the happiness, that came when he was just waking up to the sound her voice, her touch. He was nervous of us. He was scared of her.

I've known Jay for a while now. I've been next to him in firefights where the soldier in him came out, and I knew he stopped caring what happened to him so long at the team was ok. I was there when he was struggling to keep hope that Terri would make it, and was there again when he didn't. I've seen him drunk, happy, angry and broken, exhausted to the point of passing out and loopy like he was high.

I've seen him scared _for_ her, but I've never seen him scared _of_ her.

Until two days ago. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. So instead of pushing his terrified face out of my mind, I apologized to Will in advance, and then basically kidnapped him.

I say basically, because while I didn't give him a choice, I also shoved him into a back stairwell of the hospital and blocked the door. Which is where I am now, having a staring contest with a 'clearly not prepared for lying and extremely tired older brother of a guy who just almost died three or four time'.

"I don't know what you're talking about." His voice shakes. I'm doing my best to be intimidating, which really isn't hard considering the protectiveness that makes me want to obliterate anything that would threaten Jay.

"Yeah, about that. Cut the shit." I snap the last sentence. "And tell me why that kid, who was perfectly happy a week ago is suddenly freaking out at the sight of his family and his literal soul mate." Will seems to pale a little.

"It wasn't Erin-" He tried again.

"I thought I said to cut the shit." I snarl.

"How do you know I was lying?" He challenges.

"Because I saw it!" The words come out in a roar, released from the knot of emotions carefully shoved down inside my gut. "I saw him look at the girl he loves and want to throw up at the sight of her! I saw him crumble and panic under the guise of confusion and I want to know _why_!"

There's a pause. Will looks at the floor, face pinched like he's in pain. He gasps out a breath and then lifts his head, changing his gaze from the floor to the wall.

"He thought…" He shakes his head. "He thought she was dead."

"Excuse me?"

"He...I don't know. I don't know why it happened or how it happened. I have no idea how to explain what he saw, what he _thought happened-"_

The amount of pain in his voice is enough to quell the frustration in me. I can hear his worst fear in those words. Wills a doctor, his brothers a cop, and one day Will's afraid something will happen to Jay that he isn't going to be able to fix.

That better not be today.

"Will." His hands are shaking. "What. Happened."

"He thinks Erin died when he was rescued from Keyes. And that he spiraled because of that, the team was disbanded, everyone lost their badges pending review from the commanders and the signature of this therapist lady who was also very much like Erin but not at the same time. Like, you guys all went to her and the only reason he could tell me about how you reacted is because the therapist made you all write it down- and I mean detailed shit, like your thoughts and emotions, things you wouldn't tell _anybody_. He knew all of it, me included. Everybody grieved, hell he grieved like Erin was dead, went through life like Erin was dead."

"Went through life?" I question, totally blindsided by his rushed explanation.

"Like almost a year. You could probably ask him about it, what it was like his first birthday without her, the first time he talked to Voight, how he got intelligence back together. He _moved on from her._ There wasn't a doubt in his ,mind that she was dead."

"So when he saw her…"

"It was a dream come true. One that he knew _couldn't_ be true." He finishes.

"What about the team?"

"I guess you guys split for a while, trying to figure shit out on your own. He said that you and him reconnected first, then Antonio. Ruzek and Atwater got their badges back way before you guys, they partnered as patrolmen. Same with Burgess and Roman. I guess when he saw you all together, it was confusing because you hadn't really all been in the same room since...well, since she died in the hospital."

Well. That would explain...everything.

"Is it permanent?" The older Halstead shakes his head.

"Rhodes doesn't think so. Neither does Charles. He said that those memories would fade, same way a nightmare does."

"What do _you_ think?" He meets my eyes for the first time.

"Not all nightmares fade." He says, voice low, warning. Like I need to be told that. I raise an eyebrow, prompting him to finish his point.

"That said, last I talked to him he was a lot calmer. He still remembers that 'other life' but he said now it's easier to understand it wasn't real. Like those memories are fuzzy or something. He said he knows it didn't happen, and I guess he accepts that too, seeing as he's remembering most of recent events."

"Most?"

"Last thing he remembers was having to stay ridiculously late to finish a case. Something about a little kid…"

"That was three weeks ago." I murmur, knowing exactly which case he's talking about. Little colored boy, son of a drunken father, was killed by a car in a hit and run. That almost turned into a gang war, and we were all on a nice long, no sleep streak. Caught the guy though.

"Memory loss isn't to be unexpected with TMIs like this."

"And the…'dream' thing? That to be expected too?" Will swallows.

"No, not really."

"But he's getting better."

"Yeah."

"Then why are you still worried about him?"

"Ignoring all the obvious medical reasons that I could list for hours?"

"Please." I state flatly. His eyes flick around the stair well. Somewhere above us a door opens and footsteps are heard ascending up to a higher floor. It goes quiet again.

"He's never done this before." Will says softly. "He had Night terrors when he was a kid, and he used to sleepwalk sometimes, but he never…" There's a pause where he seems to steel himself. "I've never seen him break like that. I've been there for the aftermath of his nightmares, been there for the blank silences after that made me think he was catatonic, but I've never, _ever_ seen him like he was when he realized Erin was alive."

"He loves her."

"He does." Another pause. "He just doesn't know if he could put himself through having her, if it meant losing her again."

"So...what? What's he supposed to do then?" Will shrugs.

"I guess that's up to him."

 **I suck at chapter endings. Certifiable fact.**


	14. Fight 'Til The End

**Well this is it. This chapter is the shortest of them all, but it ended right where I wanted. I will add an epi to clear up a few things, but this as far as Extreme Ways is gonna go. I have to say, for a story that started as a solid hour on a bus and an 'overtired positing on a whim' thingy that I did with...apparently it came out okay.**

 **ALSO**

 **SOMEBODY SEND A PARTY IN A BOX I FINISHED A GOD DAMN STORY THAT WASN'T TWO CHAPTERS LONG HOLY HELL**

* * *

 **Jay's P.O.V.**

"You alright?"

"Yeah Will, I'm okay." He nods, carefully choosing his facial expression.

"I'm not gonna break you know. You don't have to tiptoe around me." Will's jaw clenches, but his fingers don't pause in their task. The new IV bag hangs perfectly in place, the old thrown in a certain bin in the corner.

It's been like this for much too long a time now. It's like he's angry, but can't decide at who. So I get a snappy brother who won't talk to me, no matter what I've tried. I've yelled and begged and asked nicely, then asked in much meaner ways.

 _Nothing_ has gotten a peep out of him. And it's horribly frustrating.

Part of me knows it's just how he deals with things. The other part wants to punch him in the face and tell him to man up and say whatever the fuck he needs to say.

"Will." He check my stitches.

"You can't keep avoiding it you know. At some point, you're going to have to face the fact that I'm alive." Again he ignores me.

"Look at the wall." I do. He flashes a light into each eye, which he has done every day that I've been in here and has hurt progressively less each time he's done it.

Alright if he won't face the issue, then I will.

"Why tell me what happened if your were just going to lie?"

He stops, already halfway to the door. That's been a problem these days too. He disappears as soon as he knows I'm not about to die. I know I woke up, and I know something happened. Something bad enough that I haven't been able to see anyone but Rhodes and Will and a select few nurses.

For four days. Possibly five. I still sleep enough and look at a clock to little that I can't really tell when or what day it is. I have to go off what questions people choose to answer. Which is incredibly _boring._

"How do you know I'm lying."

Haha! A reply!

"Because if I _just_ woke up and was delirious, once I was coherent and awake I should have been granted visiting privileges."

"You were still critical." He tries, but I can see the mad scramble of thoughts behind his face. At least he's looking at me.

"Yeah? Am I still critical two weeks after the accident?!"

"Jay…"

"No. No, I want to see Erin, and I want to talk to Alvin about the case, and I want to joke around with Dawson and I need to talk some fucking sense into Ruzek's head and I'd like to straighten out my leave with my sargent. So tell me, why the _fuck_ can't I do that?!"

There is silence. Then he walks over to my bed, sits in a chair, and stares at his hands. Takes a few deep breaths. I'm a second away from saying something, when he finally talks.

"You didn't….you weren't just delusional. It was...more than that. You didn't remember over a year of your life and you thought….well, you scared them Jay. It's why I made you talk to Charles. You...I don't know...had a dream or something. I can't really explain it but in it-"

"Erin died." His head jerks up, eyes wide with fear. I cut off his shocked sputtering of syllables with my explanation.

"I don't remember it. At least not most of it. But I remember waking up scared, and I remember being relieved to see Erin, a lot more relieved than I should have been. Plus I...I think I was really depressed at a point….but then that just kinda went away."

"You remember. Your dream, you remember that it was about Erin dying."

"Yeah…?" This is a revelation why exactly?

I don't really remember waking up for the first time. I remember getting the case, and being super exhausted walking in the precinct but that was it. Then I woke up, and fell asleep, and woke up and…

Apparently scared the shit out of my team in the process. And also scared the doctors enough for me to wake up in soft restraints (very bad idea, but seeing as my nightmares can get me combative, I can see why they did it.) I also some how terrified my brother, because he only distances himself like this when he's trying to get over something, especially when that something happened to me. Usually something he doesn't know how to deal with.

"And?" He says.

"And what? It's not the first time I've had a dream like that." That seems to be the exact opposite of what he wants to hear, if the way he pales is anything.

"Y-you have?"

"Yeah. I've never woken up delusional from one, but it's not the first time I've had a dream about Erin dying."

"Oh." He breaths. "Okay."

"Okay. That's it? That's the reason why you've done this whole isolation thing? Because you think me seeing Erin would trigger something?"

"No, I...it was...it _is_ a bit more complicated than that." I narrow my eyes.

"I said something didn't I?" Will's eyes flick to the ground then back to his hands. So that's a yes.

"Will I-"

"You're right." We speak at the same time, then stop staring at each other.

"What?" I manage to question first. He shrugs, picking at the hem of his maroon scrubs.

"I...I should've talked to you sooner. I just was afraid that..." He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. If you keep behaving, I'll let you start seeing people tomorrow."

"Uh...I, yeah, uh, that's..." I stammer through my shock. Two weeks (only one of them I've been conscious but still) and _this_ is all that needed to happen to get me visitors?! God damn.

"Yo, okay, but when have I not behaved." He gives me a pointed look, his pager going off to draw his glare.

"You haven't. Which is why I said ' _keep_ '." He stands. "I gotta go. And if I hear you ask one more nurse for anything other than another blanket, I will sedate you into next week."

"Killjoy." I mutter.

* * *

 **Erin's P.O.V.**

His head perks up from a excessively fluffy pillow the second I walk in the door. Pure excitement is on his face, and not just because I brought his favorite breakfast from the Skinny Pancake.

"Hi."

"Hi." I laugh, his eyes eagerly switching between my face and the doggy bag in my hand.

"So how are you." I stop, halfway through the process of unpacking the food.

"Uh…" I blink, shrugging. "Fine."

"Really."

"Really." I retort, trying to understand the panicked feeling bubbling in my chest. "I should be asking you that."

"Yeah? Because I thought having your boyfriend get in a car accident, be delusional, mostly unconscious and or incoherent for over a week only to wake up and not remember about a year of his life, watch him have an anxiety attack and then not be able to see him for almost a week after without update or reason why, would be _pretty fucking stressing."_

Oh. That. Yeah.

Slowly I set the bag down on the small table near his bed. I struggle to swallow, the dam that broke a week ago having released emotions that I haven't quite finished dealing with. I haven't seen him in a week, which was almost as bad as the week before, where I _could_ see him, but he was a second away from death.

I want to cry. I want to curl in a ball next to him and never let him go. I want to run, and to distance myself so far away from him that I never have to feel like this again. But I tried that with Nadia, and it only made the hurt echo stronger. I'm in way too deep now. Running isn't an option.

Instead I stand, put a hand on my hip and use the other to flip my hair haughtily.

"Well, you know. I'm pretty fucking awesome so after a lot of ice cream and _plenty_ of sobbing I got over it." He raises an eyebrow.

"Uh huh. You just 'got over it'."

"No. I leaned on my family. We leaned on each other. Yes, I wanted to see you, to feel you for myself, to remind myself that you're really here. But I knew you were alive. And I knew you were better and I knew Will had a good reason for what he did."

"But…"

"There is no but. I was more terrified when I found out about the accident than I ever have been in my life. I love you Jay. And I thought...I was scared. And when you woke up you…." He drops his head. Suddenly this reunion isn't the easy going sarcastic meet I wanted to be.

This is _real_. This is pain and hurt and anguish. But this is okay. Because it needs to happen, I can tell from the look on his face, the one that screams out in pain from holding so many emotions in. I've had two weeks, I've had time, I've had _people_.

He's had a moody Will, and just himself. Jay once told me, he's not good by himself. His thoughts tend to...I don't know. He said when he's alone, he wanders where he shouldn't be. And it gets him into trouble most of the time.

"I'm sorry. About...what happened. When I woke up. I don't really remember much of it but I know I scared you."

"Jay you...you weren't...it wasn't your fault."

"No I...it...it was a dream I…"

"Jay, babe." Moving I sit on the bed.

"Erin. I...I've never felt like this. About anyone. I can lose my mom, I can lose Will, I can lose Mouse. I could...I could get through that. But you...I don't know if...if I could…" He cuts off, choked and trying hard not to cry.

"Oh Jay." I murmur, seeing the water in his eyes. He leans forward and I lean to him, wrapping him in my arms; his face burying in my shoulder.

"I can't lose you either." I whisper as his shoulders shake with emotion.

"Hey. Look at me." I pull him back and he looks so open, so vulnerable, so unlike the man I know that I feel put out, like being thrown into unknown territory without warning. It derails me for a second, but I know how badly we need this. I need to see this, to learn how to deal with this. We have to learn these sides of each other, learn how to navigate each other while we're at our worst. It's trial and error unfortunately, but what relationship isn't?

"I can't promise this will work. I can't promise that I'm going to be here with you forever, you know I can't." He dips his head, sniffing and running a hand across his face. I can see the walls starting to go back up, but I know he's listening by the way he leans into my words.

"But I _can_ promise that I will always do everything in my power to stay with you." I shift my hand to cup the side of his neck, thumb brushing his jawline. He places a hand over it, carefully squeezing my other wrist.

"I love you." He whispers and I nod, knowing how hard it will be in the coming weeks to get past this.

"I know. And I love you too. We're in this together. No matter what."

He smiles, real, honest, and good. It touches something in me, makes me want to hope and smile with him. It's been so long since I saw him grin like this.

"No matter what."

* * *

 **yUP. Okay so epi will be even shorter...hopefully I can get it out sooner rather than later. :)**


	15. You Get What You Give

_**A giant shoutout to everyone who's favorited, followed and reviewed. Everyone one of you have helped me complete this story and I really, really hope you know how much I appreciate the support.**_

 _ **Epilogue**_

* * *

 **Olinski's P.O.V.**

Erin's head pokes out from the kitchen wall, her eyes wide as she scans the two of us. Jay just mutters something and walks past her to the couch where he just about collapses onto the grey material. Lindsay's eyes track him before snapping back to me, worry and little bit of anger on her open features.

"Well it took five hours and some alcohol but I think we finally got through to him." I sigh, actually taking the time to shrug off my jacket and hang it up before walking into the main room. Or at least that's my intention. Erin snaps at me before I get two feet, and my shoes quickly join the pile by the door.

The conversation with Ruzek went better than I hoped. My partner hadn't been the same since the accident, and while the rest of the team were rallying around Jay's prospective return, Adams was shrinking further, determined to stay in the guilt ridden pit of misery he'd thrown himself in. My mind flashes back to the beginning of the exhausting conversation. I wasn't exaggerating when I said five hours.

...

" _I should have stopped the second he got hit."_

" _Adam, you were driving. You couldn't tell how bad it was, and it felt like a graze to me. There were literally zero indicators in my voice that would have told you I needed a hospital."_

" _Yeah no, instead I ran a red light and just about killed you."_

" _Ruzek-"_

" _No! No you don't get to tell me it isn't my fault alright?! You were in a fucking coma, had a tube down your throat because you couldn't breath! You didn't have to watch your teammate slowly die, or watch Erin sob because she was losing another person, or see Antonio shut down because he brought you into this unit and god damn it Jay don't you get it?! You might have died, you might have never returned to the job and all of it, ALL of it would have been my fault!"_

 _..._

"...I help you or Al does. But you are not going to pass out fully clothed on the couch. You have PT tomorrow and I'm sure you don't want to have Mr. Kurnin add back exercises to fix your fucked up spine."

I'm towed from my thought at the mention of my name. The talk had started to improve from there, because once Adam got it off his chest, Jay and I were able to slowly mold him towards a better truth. Being guilty doesn't change the fact that it happened. Nobody blames him, and it could have happened to all of us. Torturing yourself with 'what if's only chains you to the past.

Jay and Erin are living, breathing, healthy examples of that. Not just in their pasts, but in the accident too. Their relationship has developed to something incredibly strong, something worthwhile. Something they both need, something they can both rely on.

The team is stronger too. The accident hurt, yes, and we walked around wounded for a while, in the same way an animal is fiercely protective of its offspring after they're attacked. ' _Dangerous when threatened_ ' should be plastered on the back of our tach vests. Voight especially, has been on the war path, dealing with whatever he feels towards Halstead. Which, despite what he'll tell me, is slowly evolving to something more warm.

Six cases closed, in less than two month. That's something of a record, seeing as four of them were cold cases, and the other two we had just about nothing to go on.

Still. Jay isn't back yet, at least not on official active duty. It's taken the tension out of the bullpen to have him back at his desk, even if it's for four hours a day. The empty chair, the lack of sarcastic comments and slight insults, and the absence of the quiet beats he taps out unconsciously with his pen when he's thinking, all cumulated to create a somber air, an angry one really. There was nothing to do in the weeks as he recovered, the asshole having shot him we caught in less than forty eight hours afterwards.

It was terrifying. And looking at Jay lying semi-comfortably on the couch, color to his skin and splayed without pain, it almost seems surreal.

"Al?"

The two are looking at me, and the urge to tell Jay everything, to tell him that I don't want him back on the job so early, tell him how the amount of fear I felt simultaneously scared me and shocked me, tell him that talking to Adam was easier than talking to him, because Ruzek had resilience whereas when I talked to Jay I knew he had been through a lot and I was always afraid that I'd say the wrong thing and it'd push him over the edge.

Instead I take a deep breath, and comment about how _he_ gets to keep shoes on while I my head taken off before walking two feet.

Who wants to live in the past, when everyone you love is moving forward.

* * *

 **aaaand that is it! Short and sweet I guess. Sorry if you wanted more but this is all I had planned for it.**

 **So I think I'm going to take a little time off, focus on churning out some oneshots in between my finals and AP tests. I really don't want to graduate...but like I kinda gotta.**

 **Anyway REVIEW PLEASE. (and you have any story ideas...I'll take em. ;)**


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